


Monster

by foolsdance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Arrested Dean, BAMF Winchesters, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Escape, FBI, Foster Care, Gen, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolsdance/pseuds/foolsdance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the disastrous events in Colorado, Sam and Dean encounter a new problem. An unknown creature changes Sam into his twelve year old self. Going from bad to worse, they are soon after caught by the FBI, who believe Sam has been kidnapped by Dean as a replacement for his missing brother. It's up to Sam to break Dean out of custody, not easy when you're suddenly a pint sized foster kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this story by the amazing counteragent can be found [here](http://counteragent.livejournal.com/151949.html).

 

 

 

 

A lot of life is dealing with your curse, dealing with the cards you were given that aren't so nice. Does it make you into a monster, or can you temper it in some way, or accept it and go in some other direction?  
[Wes Craven](http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/w/wescraven211055.html)

 

 

*****

 

-FBI interview, Eric Waters, April 26, 2007

 

 

“How did you know the suspect was Dean Winchester?”

 

“Well, I'd like, done this paper on him for my abnormal psychology class, 'cause he's, you know, a famous serial killer. So it was kind of hard not to recognize him. And I mean, he was just sitting there only one booth over. Freaked me the fuck out.”

 

“That would be at the 'Frank's Good Eats' diner on Chalmette?”

 

“Yeah, that's the one. I'd been visiting my Mom and stopped to get a poboy on the way out. They make awesome poboys there. They use this bread, see, that's...”

 

“And what did you do when you spotted Mr. Winchester?”

 

“Man, what do you think? I just about pissed myself! Uh, I mean, can you take that part out?”

 

“Please just answer the question.”

 

“Well, I left, went outside I mean, and called my uncle.”

 

“That would be Agent Delecrioux?”

 

“Yeah, that's my uncle. Anyway, he said he'd call the cops but that I should leave. On account of him being so dangerous, and all.”

 

“And did you?”

 

“Hells yeah.”

 

“Was he with anyone? Tell me everything you observed him doing in the diner.”

 

“Just, you know, eating. Like a normal person. He was alone. 'Course, I only saw him a minute or two . I mean, when I was really paying attention. I left pretty quick after that. Did you see the pictures of those poor women in St. Louis?”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Waters. I believe we have all we need for now. We will be in touch with you.”

 

“Wait, did you catch him? Was anybody hurt?”

 

“We'll be in touch.”

 

-End of interview-

 

*****

 

Dean was enjoying the last of his cherry pie when his brother slid into the seat next to him. Sam leaned over and said quietly, “I think we've been made.”

 

Dean put down his fork as Sam continued. “The kid that was sitting behind us is outside right now, trying really hard to look casual but he keeps looking in here. At us. And he's talking on his cell.”

 

“Shit.”

 

Sam nodded. “The good news is I don't think he spotted me.”

 

Dean snorted. “Why am I not surprised? Shrimp like you is easy to miss.” He ignored the glare Sam sent his way. It looked even funnier on his geeky face now than it did when he was all freakishly ginormous.

 

“Very funny. Don't you think we'd better get the hell out of here instead of wasting time picking on me?”

 

Dean put the last bite of pie into his mouth and stood up, carefully not looking towards the front of the diner.

 

“He gone yet?”

 

Sam got up and walked over to the glass door. “Looks like. Let's go.”

 

Dean tossed a twenty down on the table and headed for the door. “After you, little brother.” He held the door open.

 

Sam huffed past him. “You know, you're getting way too much enjoyment from this whole thing. We don't have time to deal with this.”

 

Dean hurried to the Impala and unlocked his door, reaching over to unlock the passenger side from the inside. “I don't know, Sammy, this kinda feels like poetic justice to me.”

 

Sam climbed into the car and stared at his hands. He could barely see over the dashboard. This really sucked. 

 

“Just drive, jerk.”

 

“Which way, bitch?”, Dean retorted, even as he pulled smoothly out onto the roadway.

 

Sam gingerly pulled a local road map out of the glove compartment. “Quickest way out of town is the 1-10 west, towards Baton Rouge.”

 

Dean shook his head even as he scanned the area for approaching police cars. “That would be the first place I'd look for me if I were a cop, dude. How about south?”

 

Sam consulted the map. “We could take the 90 down towards Morgan City.”

 

“Sounds like a plan. Which way?”

 

Sam gave directions while Dean drove, weaving carefully in and out of the heavy rush hour traffic. They had just left the city limits when Sam spotted the flashing red and blue lights.

 

“Dean.” 

 

“I see them.” They rounded a corner and saw more than just lights. It was a roadblock, made up of what looked like every available cop in the area. 

 

“Shit!” Dean exclaimed. He took his foot off the gas and lightly tapped the brake so that they were effectively coasting. Neither doubted this was all in place to catch them. “Maybe we can make a run for it.”

 

Sam turned his whole body around and got up on his knees, looking behind them. “I don't think so, Dean.”

 

Dean turned around in his seat. At least five cars had pulled out from hiding spots behind them to flank them from the rear.

 

“Now what?” Sam whispered. Dean bit his lip as he thought.

 

“Okay, look, you gotta play the victim.” 

 

Sam looked at him incredulously.

 

“It's the only thing that makes sense. They'll never believe that you're you. They're gonna think you're just some kid that I've taken. You need to go along with that. If you tell them the truth, they're just going to send you to the nuthouse. This way, it'll be easy for you to give them the slip.”

 

Sam frowned but nodded. For once, Dean's reasoning was flawless. “What about you?”

 

Dean shrugged. “We'll work that out when the time comes. At least one of us will be free. I don't think we have a lot of choices here, Sammy.”

 

Dean was right. They had by now coasted to a stop near the formidable line of various law enforcement vehicles, each one flanked by an armed officer with his weapon drawn and trained on them. Through a bullhorn they heard, “Lay down your weapons and step out of the car!”

 

The brothers looked at each other. Dean removed the gun hidden under his shirt and carefully slid it under the front seat. He looked at his brother. 

 

“What? I'm not carrying, Dean. I'm in the body of a kid, for God's sake!”

 

“Lay down your weapons and step out of the car, _now_!”

 

In unison they opened their respective doors and stepped out of the car. Dean put his hands on his head anticipating the next order. Sam concentrated on looking small and lost.

 

*****

 

Two months earlier, Zachary, Louisiana

 

They were almost down to the grave, a Miss Amy Bancroft buried in 1896 after dying of supposedly natural causes. In actuality, she'd died after being poisoned by a jealous and undoubtedly unhinged stepmother. Amy had been taking her revenge on various family members and their descendants ever since.

 

It was Dean's turn to dig. Sam was standing guard, his shotgun loaded with rock salt at the ready.

 

Sam spotted it first out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of white in the dim moonlight of the cemetery. He swiveled, gun pointed at the potential threat.

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean's head popped up. “Trouble?”

 

Sam jerked his head at the object in the distance. “You tell me.”

 

Dean's forehead creased in confusion. “What the hell?”

 

“Don't know, dude. Just finish up, fast.”

 

Dean nodded without answering and resumed shoveling with a renewed urgency.

 

Sam studied the object floating near a headstone. It looked like nothing he'd ever seen before. A ball of milky mist a little bigger than a basketball, it had a long thin trail of white beneath it. Almost like a tail. Sam had the unsettling feeling it was observing him, studying him. Suddenly it began moving at a high rate of speed towards him. 

 

“ETA Dean!”

 

“Three minutes!” Dean called from inside the grave.

 

Sam fired the shotgun in the center of the creature. It dissipated into nothingness. 

 

“Sam?”

 

“Okay for now, just finish it.” Dean grunted an assent. From below him Sam heard the sound of ancient wood being pried open. 

 

“Little help here.” 

 

Keeping his eyes up and focused on the area in which the mist had materialized, Sam reached down to help his brother out of the grave. He stood guard while Dean poured the fuel and threw a match into the grave. Both men stood tensely waiting for a reappearance of the spirit. After several long minutes of waiting they began to relax.

 

“Think we got it.”

 

Dean nodded. “You think it was her?”

 

Sam shrugged. “I guess. Never saw a spirit apparate like that before though. If it was, she should be gone now.”

 

Dean's eyes continued to scan their immediate environment, his brow creased in concentration.

 

“Dean, c'mon, let's go before someone calls this in. Or do you really feel like spending the night in jail?” 

 

Sam was bending over to retrieve the shovel when it happened. 

 

Without warning the object reappeared, this time completely enveloping Sam. His body jerked like a fish on a hook.

 

“Sam!” Dean yelled and raised his weapon but stopped before firing. There was nothing to aim at that wouldn't hit his brother as well. Suddenly Sam seemed to lose consciousness, eyes rolling back in his head and his mouth open slightly. He remained standing. This did not look good.

 

Dean swore. Rock salt would hurt like a bitch and leave some nasty bruises but it would get that thing off Sam. He fired at Sam's chest, unwilling to risk a direct hit to his eyes. The object disappeared and Sam collapsed onto the dew dampened grass. 

 

Swearing, Dean grabbed his brother up into his arms and ran for the car. It was only as he was shoving him into the back seat that the adrenaline wore off enough for him to process the fact that he shouldn't have been able to do that. It had, in fact, been more years than Dean like to think about since Sam had been small enough for him to carry. He stopped and stared at the person in his car. At the inexplicably _young_ person in his car.

 

“Sam?”

 

Sam's eyes fluttered open. “Dean? What happened? You get it?”

 

Dean rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Yeah, but we got bigger problems.”

 

Sam sat up on his elbows. “What?”

 

“You're a kid, dude.”

 

Sam sat up fully, then maneuvered himself to see his reflection in the rear view mirror. Dean saw his eyes grow large. 

 

“Dean, I'm a kid!”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Think that's what I just said, Sammy.”

 

“Don't call me Sammy, jerk.”

 

Dean laughed, genuine humor mixed with a tinge of hysteria. “You've never been more of a Sammy, dude.” He noticed the tiny drops of blood on Sam's arms and instantly sobered up. “Damn, Sammy, sorry I had to shoot you. Doesn't look too bad though. Looks like your arms and hands got the worst of it.” He leaned over the front seat to grab some paper napkins and hand them to Sam. “Better get you back to the hotel and get this bandaged up.” Sam took the napkins and nodded as he dropped his head back down onto the seat. Sometimes his life was really weird.

Dean walked in holding a greasy bag of burgers aloft triumphantly. “Dinner is served!”

 

Sam looked up from his laptop, grinning. “I think I found it Dean! Look, it's a hitodama, found in Japanese mythology. There's a similar creature found in European lore. Not a whole lot of info on it but it's a step in the right the direction.”

 

Dean put the burgers down on the table next to the motel window and sat down next to Sam on the bed. He peered at the screen. “So what's their deal?”

 

“They appear in graveyards following a recent death. Apparently they like to mislead those who see them. Dama's **Compendium** says it sometimes 'plays pranks on travelers or misleads them in some way and is attracted by those with strong karma'.”

 

Dean waved a hand at Sam's small frame. “How do you figure this is misleading us?”

 

Sam shrugged. “You interrupted it. Who knows what it was really trying to do. But even so, this is pretty messed up. I think maybe it's like a trickster sort of thing, where it's basically just screwing with you. Only I don't think it's really sentient.”

 

“So how do we undo this? Not that having baby Sam back hasn't been barrels of fun.”

 

Sam shrugged again. “No clue. Everything I've found so far has said there is no reversing whatever it does.”

 

Dean eyed him with suspicion. “I gotta say, Sammy, you're being awfully laid back about all this. Why aren't you freaking out?”

 

“I am, a little bit. Or I was. But really, it's not that bad. I mean, it could be worse. So I've lost a few years. I'll grow up again.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I forgot who I was talking to. Since you're halfway to monkhood already, I guess spending the next few years without sex or booze isn't going to bother you too much. What am I supposed to say when people ask why I'm dragging a kid around with me?”

 

Sam powered down his laptop and busied himself putting it away for the night. “Well, they'll probably think you're a either a pervert or are taking care of your little brother. It would behoove us to promote the latter.”

 

Dean fished through the bag and pulled out a paper wrapped sandwich. He tossed it in Sam's general direction. “And that kind of talk is exactly why you don't get laid, Sammy.” 

 

He stopped and made a face as the words, spoken automatically, permeated his consciousness. “On second thought, forget I said that. This is gonna be weird, dude. Big you in little you's body.”

 

Sam swallowed the bite of chicken sandwich before answering. “Tell me about it. I'm still freaking out whenever I pass a mirror. And don't get me started on, you know.” He flapped a hand in the general direction of the bathroom.

 

Dean grimaced around his mouthful of burger. “Dude.”

 

Sam nodded solemnly. That pretty much summed things up. At least things could get much worse from here though, right?

 

 

They spent the next couple of weeks visiting various shamen, mythology professors, and voodoo priestesses in search of answers. It didn't take Sam long to spot the silver living to this particular cloud. It was actually worth the daily humiliations of being a kid again if he were able to hunt for an answer to Dean's problem under the guise of looking for a solution to his own. Of course, Dean wasn't stupid enough to believe Sam had given up on finding a way out of Dean's deal. But this way Dean was able to pretend that he believed it with perfectly plausible deniability. 

 

Unfortunately no answers to either problem were immediately forthcoming. Bobby, laid up with a broken leg, wasn't a whole lot of help. Neither he nor any of his contacts had much info on the hitodama, though he did give Sam some direction in beginning his hunt for answers. They'd mostly been circling around the south, trying to stick close to the Gulf Coast in case they needed to do some ritual in the cemetery where Sam had been affected. They'd even knocked out a minor hunt at Dean's insistence with Sam providing mainly research and backup. It was bitter-sweetly nostalgic for them both, a reminder of days gone by. 

 

The day of their capture both brothers had spent the day researching in the mythology section of the University of New Orleans library. That is, Sam did. Even hampered by his damaged hands and small stature that made reaching top shelves difficult to say the least, Sam was doing the bulk of the work. Dean made a honest effort, lasting longer than Sam thought he would. But by lunch time the finger tapping and sighing had gotten so distracting he'd sent Dean out with orders not to come back before five when they'd go out to eat.

 

At least Sam had been able to finish his meal before it all went to hell.

 

*****

 

Agents Tom Lejeune and Adam Fuller were almost to the roadblock when the call came through. 

 

“Did you get them?”, Agent Fuller asked after the caller identified himself. “Were both brothers there?”

 

“Nope, just the one you said would be there for sure. The older one, Dean. But get this, he had a hostage. A kid.”

 

“What happened? Is the kid okay?”

 

“His hands are kind of banged up but otherwise he looks to be fine. He won't say what happened. Good news is, nothing happened to him at the roadblock, Winchester gave up without a fight.”

 

Odd. Fuller would have expected Winchester to put up some resistance. Then again from what he'd read so far in Hendricksons files, which wasn't much admittedly since he'd only had the car ride to read, the guy was a cockroach of a survivor. Faced with a checkmate scenario it would make sense for him to surrender and wait for a chance to escape later. Like most sociopaths, he would be solely concerned with his continued existence. Although he had apparently made at least one significant connection to another human being in the course of his miserable life.

 

“No sign of the brother?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Who is the kid?”

 

“No idea, he's not talking at all. Not a peep.”

 

“How old would you say he is?”

 

“Eleven, maybe twelve would be my guess.”

 

At least he was physically capable of talking. A really young child would have been useless as a witness. It made him sick to think of a psycho like Winchester having a child under his control for any length of time but maybe something good could come of it. According to Hendrickson's notes, Winchester was incapable of keeping his mouth shut for any length of time. He would have undoubtedly told the kid some things he shouldn't have. Fuller was nothing if not a silver lining kind of guy.

 

“We're almost there, just keep him calm until then. And for God's sake, don't take your eyes off Winchester for a second. He's escaped custody three times that we know of and has no problem killing cops to do it. Weapons drawn until we get there.”

 

“Roger that.”

 

Fuller hung up and looked at his partner. “You get all that?”

 

“He had a kid with him? A hostage?”

 

“Apparently.”

 

“Damn.”

 

Fuller agreed wholeheartedly.

 

Winchester was handcuffed, hands in back he noted, and circled by at least ten officers, most with weapons drawn. Fuller approved. He'd apparently impressed on them the seriousness of the danger Winchester represented. Of course, most of them would have seen the news reports themselves. It wasn't everyday that an entire police station blows up, taking with it several LEOs and civilians, not to mention two federal agents. 

 

Supposedly Dean and his brother had died as well, although well before the explosion. But it wouldn't be the first time the older one, at least, had managed to somehow fake his own death. Fuller wondered if the younger one, Sam, had in fact died after all. From what he knew they worked as a team, though the role of each was hotly debated. Hendrickson had seemed to believe the older one was the main instigator, following his father's dark path blindly. He thought Sam had tried to leave his family's criminal ways behind him but was pulled back in by his brother after Dean murdered his girlfriend. Fuller wasn't so sure. To him it seemed just as likely that Sam was every bit the murdering psychopath his brother was, just better at concealing it. It was even possible Sam had taken on their missing father's role in the family and was responsible for choosing their crimes and victims.

 

The crowd parted to let the agents through. An older man wearing a sheriffs uniform approached them.

 

“Agents Lejeune and Fuller?” 

 

Fuller extended a hand. “Pleasure, sheriff. Any problems?”

 

The Sheriff wiped his hand on his uniform before taking Fuller's. “Nope. Guess even a rat bastard like Winchester knows when he's beat.”

 

Winchester smirked at that but remained silent. Hopefully that was only temporary.

 

“Who was it that spotted them?” Lejeune put in.

 

Sheriff Landry pointed towards a tall man standing off to one side. “Boyd over there. One of my deputies. He was off duty but still had his scanner on, caught the APB just before Winchester cruised past him.”

 

Lejeune nodded. “Think I'll go thank him.”

 

Fuller watched him leave before turning back to the sheriff. “Where's the kid?”

 

The Sheriff gestured in the direction of a state highway patrol car, sitting over to the side of the road with one rear door open. Fuller could just make out small sneaker clad feet dangling below the door. He walked in that direction.

 

Wide brown eyes met his from underneath floppy bangs before looking back down at the asphalt. Fuller stopped awkwardly. He barely knew how to talk to a normal kid, much less a traumatized one. Luckily Lejeune joined them fairly quickly. Fuller stepped back to let his partner take the lead. 

 

Lejeune squatted down on his haunches. “Hey, there, _mon ami_ , how's it going? My name is Tom Lejeune and this is my partner Adam Fuller. We work for the FBI. Can you tell me your name?” The kid pulled his feet inside the car and focused his gaze on the gray carpeted floor of the patrol car. There was no answer.

 

“Things are kind of scary right now, huh? We just need to know who your parents are and then we can get you home. I'll bet your mom and dad are real worried about you by now.” 

 

The kid looked up at them then and man, did he looked terrified. A litany of horrors that may have been perpetrated against this child ran through Fuller's head.

 

“Can you at least tell me what happened to your hands? It's okay to talk to us, the man who took you can't do anything to you anymore. We've got him in custody. He's going to be locked away forever so he can never hurt anyone ever again.”

 

The boy swallowed and looked down again. Fuller had the distinct impression he wouldn't be talking any time soon. He most likely wouldn't feel safe from Winchester for a while yet.

 

“Lejeune. Let's get him back to headquarters, we can talk there.”

 

Lejeune nodded. He knew as well as Fuller that they would have taken the kid back for an interview at any rate, but it would have been nice to let frantic parents know their child was alive. It would have to wait until the boy felt safe enough to talk.

 

“Yeah. Okay, we need you to come with us now.” Lejeune held his hand out but didn't touch the boy. After a long moment during which Fuller thought the kid was going to balk at going with them, the boy hopped out of the car. He made no move to take Special Agent Lejeune’s hand but followed behind them quietly.

 

Fuller asked the Sheriff to escort Winchester to FBI headquarters. Three other cars followed behind, forming a small convoy of police protection. No one was taking any chances.

 

Lejeune tried to engage the kid twice more on the drive back into the city but there was no response. He didn't even crack a smile at the lame attempts at jokes that most prepubescent boys would find hilarious. 

 

Once they arrived Fuller supervised the transfer of Winchester into the building himself leaving his partner to deal with the kid.

 

“Gotta say, Winchester, I expected more from you,” he said as he watched the prisoner being frisked and handcuffed to the interview table.

 

“Don't believe everything you read, chief.”

 

Fuller stepped closer, right up into his personal space. “One thing your file didn't mention was that you apparently like little boys.” He didn't have to wait long for Winchester's reaction.

 

“That's sick, dude!” Winchester actually had the nerve to look repulsed.

 

Fuller smiled. Someone this easy to bait would be a snap to interrogate. Three, four days tops and he'd know all he ever wanted to know about Winchester and his twisted excuse for a family. Including where the boy had come from. And what happened to the missing brother.

 

 

*****

 

 

Lejeune took the boy to the evidence processing section of the building. Melissa Warechek was on duty. “What have we here?” she asked, smiling at the boy. He didn't return the smile.

 

“This young man needs a complete workup. He's not talking right now so we aren't sure what's going on.”

 

Melissa responded like a pro. “No problem. Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

 

They stepped just outside the door, leaving it open to observe the child inside. Melissa pitched her voice low so the boy couldn't hear. “I need some background here, Tom.” 

 

“You remember that pair of serial killers, the Winchester brothers, supposedly killed in that explosion a few weeks back?” At her nod, he continued. “They aren't as dead as we thought. One isn't, anyway. The oldest, Dean. He was just picked up and the kid was in his custody. We don't know anything more yet, not even the boy's name.”

 

Melissa looked horrified. “That poor kid.” She paused. “Are we suspecting sexual assault?”

 

“There's no history of sexual violence against children but we certainly can't rule it out. Do a standard rape exam and collect trace evidence as well.” Melissa nodded. They were both well aware that there was no such thing as too much forensic evidence when it came to prosecuting the bad guys.

 

“Are you going to wait? It'll take about a hour or so.”

 

Tom nodded and pulled a chair from inside the room to just outside the door. “Holler if you need me.” It wasn't an idle request. Witnesses, especially injured ones, had been known to lash out in their distress. Even a child could do damage with the right piece of medical equipment in their hands.

 

Melissa glanced at the boy in the room, standing unnaturally still and studying the floor. “I'll need to call Evie in to assist.” Exams were always done with two employees present to avoid accusations of evidence tampering or misconduct.

 

Evie arrived shortly thereafter and closed the door firmly behind her. About forty five minutes later it opened again.

 

“We're all done. He did great.” The boy stood in the middle of the room, flushed features tightly drawn. Lejeune didn't blame the kid. He knew they tried to make the exam as easy as possible but it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. Either Melissa or Evie had given the kid some of the spare clothes they kept for just such a case as this. The t-shirt swallowed him, coming all the way down to his knees. The bottoms appeared to be scrubs identical to the ones the tech was wearing, likely the only thing close to his size they had. They were rolled into cuffs but still dragged the floor. He looked impossibly young and out of place in the federal building.

 

“That's great. Could you give me a minute, _mon ami_?” He left the child waiting where he was and joined Melissa back in the lab. “Anything I need to know tonight?”

 

“No. Nothing that required medical attention except the wounds on his hands and forearms. No idea what caused them. They may look bad but they're actually mostly healed. There's a large contusion on his back that you might want to be careful of. No sign of sexual trauma. I'll get you a full report tomorrow.” 

 

“Thanks, Melisa.” He raised his voice. “Hey, why don't we go find someplace more comfortable to hang out for a while, okay?” Tom waited for the boy to exit the room and then led the way down the hallway. He took the boy to their most kid friendly interview room, the one with a sofa and armchairs. 

 

“So are you hungry, thirsty, maybe?” The boy shook his head no. Struck by a sudden inspiration, he rooted out some paper and pens from the small filing cabinet by the door.

 

“You know, if you don't want to say anything, you can always write stuff. Or just doodle. Whatever. No pressure.”

 

The kid was eying him as if he were a particularly slow witted child. Lejeune felt vaguely insulted.

 

“Or not.” Out of ideas for the moment, he called for backup.

 

Amy, the after hours dispatcher, answered. “Hey, any luck tracking down George?” 

 

“He's on his way, Tom. It'll be a few, he was in Metarie at his kid's ball game. He wasn't happy about having to come in.”

 

“He'll be all right once he gets here and sees what's up.” George Colbert was the resident psychiatrist, interviewing the trickier subjects as needed.

 

Tom wished he would hurry. Clearly all he was doing was making the kid more nervous, not less. He settled in to wait and hoped his partner was having better luck with Winchester.

 

*****

 

Fuller was in the viewing area of the interview room, reading over Winchester's file on his laptop when Lejeune came in.

 

“How's the kid?”

 

His partner studied Winchester through the glass as he answered. “I left him with George. Melissa did the evidentiary exam, no sign of sexual assault but significant bruising on his arms, hands, and back.”

 

“Any idea what caused it specifically?”

 

Lejeune shrugged. “We're not sure. If I had to guess I'd say he was peppered with gravel on the arms. The back could be anything from a punch to a slam. He's still not talking.”

 

Fuller rubbed his forehead and pursed his lips in response. Lejeune gestured at Winchester.

 

“You still letting him stew?”

 

Fuller studied his laptop screen. “Never hurts. Besides, I need to know what I'm dealing with before I really get into it with him.”

 

Lejeune sat down next to him and peered at the screen. “What have we got on him?”

 

“Hendrickson was pretty obsessed with the brothers. So there's a mountain of stuff here to go through. He used Sam's transcript from Stanford to backtrack the family's movements. Of which there were many. They didn't appear to have stayed in one place more than a few months at the outside. Usually less.”

 

“The brothers never had a chance to become socialized outside their family. No significant connections.”

 

“Yup. Not sure if that was by design. There's no good reading on the father, of what drove him. Hendrickson thought he was a white supremacist or something along those lines. I'm thinking not. Seems more like a psychotic break. There are reports from classmates and neighbors in three separate towns who overheard the boys talking about hunting monsters.”

 

“Sounds like kids playing pretend to me.”

 

“I think not. When they were interviewed about the brothers and asked what they remembered about them, this is what they talked about. Well, that and them having weapons around a lot. Guns, knives, you name it.”

 

“So you think the father started all this, killing people he thought were monsters, teaching his kids to do the same thing? Brainwashing them, making the boys believe in his delusions?”

 

“Looks that way. We've got CPS reports from six seperate states about the boys being abused or neglected. And the father told his former business partner 'something' had killed his wife. That it wasn't an accidental fire as ruled by the authorities. In several of the towns that the family lived in there was a string of unexplained deaths in the area. The father was never charged with anything other than petty stuff, mostly vandalism, but still. Quite a coincidence. And get this, did you know the younger son's girlfriend also died in a fire, exactly twenty two years later? To the day.”

 

Lejeune leaned back. “No way that's a coincidence. You think it was the older or the younger one who did it?”

 

“Hendrickson seemed pretty sure it was the older brother, doing it to pull the other one back into the family business. No history of domestic violence between Sam and the girlfriend, then she's dead within three days of meeting Dean.”

 

“That business being... hunting monsters. Or rather, people he told the kids were monsters.”

 

“Bingo.”

 

“Wow. That's _beaucoup_ kinds of crazy. So what can we pin on him.”

 

“Well, there's literally dozens of credit card scams taking place all over the country, along with various mail frauds. Three confirmed dead in St Louis along with one assault victim that lived. Then there's the bank robbery. Three dead there, though one was most likely an accomplice. Plus a whole mess of minor offenses all over. Some B&E's, stuff like that. But I feel sure this is just the tip of the iceberg. We've already got leads to cases the brothers may have been involved in just from Hendrickson's notes. It's possible they started killing as teenagers.”

 

“Didn't they get caught up on a B&E? A museum or something?”

 

Fuller nodded. “Yup. Broke out too, in less than a week. Just a county jail, but still.”

 

“And then there's Colorado.”

 

“Colorado’s a whole 'nother kettle of fish. We're going to have to go over the evidence with a fine toothed comb if we want to pin any of that on Winchester. It's already been ruled an accident by our people. But if we can pin it on him that's another ten dead.”

 

“Any ideas on the other brother? Sam?”

 

Fuller leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “There are three main possibilities. One, Dean killed him. Two, Sam left on his own. Or maybe he just died in Colorado like everyone thought.”

 

Lejeune grunted. It was entirely possible they'd rigged the whole thing and Sam had gotten caught in his own trap. He, among others at the bureau, thought the gas line explosion had been a little too convenient when it had happened, especially considering who was in custody at the time. A pair of serial killers, smart and capable, would have no qualms about killing a building full of people to facilitate their escape. The problem would be in proving it. There was a chance that the forensics team sent to sift through the rubble afterwards missed something, but in reality, it wasn't that likely. Their best chance to convict lay in getting a confession.

 

“How long have we got before extradition?”

 

Fuller shrugged. “Missouri and Wisconsin have the best shot at it. But there are plenty of other contenders. I'm guessing it'll be tied up in the courts for a couple of weeks. Maybe more. Our lawyers will make a case for us to have him while we investigate the Colorado explosion.”

 

They looked at their prisoner through the two way glass. He was leaning back in the uncomfortable metal chair as far as his cuffs would allow him, the picture of relaxation.

 

“I don't think it's working.”

 

Fuller shook his head. “He's not as cool as he seems. Look under the table.”

 

Lejeune leaned forward for a better look. Sure enough, Winchester's right foot was tapping out a rapid beat, releasing the nervous energy he was trying so hard to hide. Lejeune grinned. 

 

“ _Ca c’est bon!_ You wanna go first or should I?”

 

Fuller checked his watch. “I'll do it. You need to get back to the kid, settle him in for the night.” He laughed at Lejeune's disgruntled face. “Hey, it's not my fault that you're good with kids. And you know procedure as well as I do.”

 

Lejeune snorted. “Fine.” Of course it was important for a witness to establish trust with them and the best way to do that was to have one person be his handler as much as possible. It wasn't fair that it was usually him though. He wanted a crack at the big bad serial killer too.

 

He stood up and left the room. “If you need me I'll be babysitting.” Fuller's tired chuckle followed him down the hall, cutting off abruptly as the door swung shut behind him.

 

*****

 

 

Sam studied the man sitting the chair across from him. Tall and rangy, he didn't really look much like a psychiatrist. At least, not what his idealized conception of what one should look like. 

 

Sam couldn't deny his nervousness. He hadn't been sleeping well since 'The Change', as he'd taken to calling it in his mind. The sheer oddness of everything about his body being too small and proportionally all wrong had the side effect of making him restless. Restless enough to prevent him from achieving a good night's sleep. And yeah, he'd exaggerated his calmness to Dean about this dilemma, because who in their right mind wanted to go through puberty a second time? No one sane, that's who.

 

So the chronic sleeplessness and the sheer intimidation factor of being in the FBI building combined with the ever hovering pressure of Dean's looming due date had his anxiety levels ramped up to such a degree that he worried about slipping up. Time was growing critically short and this all felt like a huge stumbling block to what he really needed to be doing. Saving Dean.

 

The psychiatrist finally put down the folder and Sam jerked awake, startled to find himself drifting off under these circumstances. He studied Sam with piercing blue eyes.

 

“I can see that you are very tired. I'm sure you've had a difficult time of it lately. I want you to understand that you aren't in any trouble here. We just want to help you. How about this. Just tell me your name and we'll wait and talk again tomorrow. Can you do that for me?”

 

Sam's head was spinning, fatigue and the shock of waning adrenaline taking it's toll. 

 

“Your name, son. What's your name?”

 

From a distance, Sam heard his own voice saying, “Sam. My name is Sam. I think I need to go to bed now.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean throws Fuller a shit eating grin as he comes in, tired and ready for this cluster fuck of a day to be over. Mostly though, he's worried about Sammy and determined not to show it. Dad always taught him to keep his weaknesses hidden from the enemy as best he could. He'd long ago acknowledged to himself that Sam was the biggest weakness he'd ever have. 

The agent was close to what his Dad's age would have been, if he'd still been around, but softer around the middle than his father ever was. The brief pang of hurt at the thought of his father flared up, a familiar pain only slightly dulled by time. Dean was somewhat disappointed that it wasn't the other fed, the one who he'd seen talking to Sammy earlier. The younger ones were almost always easier to rile up. In jail, he'd learned long ago, you took your fun where you found it. 

“So Dean, how are you enjoying our hospitality? Would you like a soda, water maybe?”

“A beer would be nice. Shiner Bock if you've got it.”

Fuller smiled thinly but didn't rise to the bait. Dean sighed inwardly. He really hoped this guy wasn't going to be another Hendrickson.

“I'm going to be straight with you here. We've got you dead to rights. The charges against you would be more than enough to go for the death penalty and I think you know it. Your best shot at avoiding it is to cooperate with us. If you do, I can just about guarantee that the prosecutor will recommend life instead.”

Dean leaned his head back and studied the ceiling.

“You can pretend not to care but I know better. You don't want to die, Dean. I can see it in your eyes.”

Dean slanted him a look of only slightly bitter humor. “You can, huh? That's pretty funny.”

Fuller tilted his head thoughtfully. “Are you telling me you want to die? Is that it?”

Dean shrugged. “It's not up to you or me. What will be, will be.”

Fuller paused, considering. “That's true. It's up to the criminal justice system. But you can influence it.”

Dean snorted. “Already did. It's a done deal now, dude. What we do here don't mean shit.”

Fuller leaned closer. “What about your brother, Dean? Don't you want to see him again someday?”

Dean's grin suddenly got a lot sharper. “Don't talk about my brother.”

“Why not? Let me guess, you don't want to talk about him because he's no longer with us, is that it? Did you kill your brother, Dean? Your little brother, who you raised, who you protected all those years, didn't want to be with you anymore, right? He was going to leave you, like he did before, and you couldn't handle it so you killed him, right? Am I right Dean? You pulled out your gun and shot your baby brother dead?”

Dean realized his mouth was open in shock and horror and closed it quickly. “What, why, I would never...”

Fuller slammed the folder in his hands down on the table. “The fuck you wouldn't. Killing is what you do. Up until now the only person safe from you has been Sam, but you couldn't handle the thought of his leaving you again, could you? So tell me, Dean, where is Sammy?”

Afterwards Dean would blame his fatigue combined with an almost primal fury at being accused of something so anthical to his nature, but the truth was he was tired of the lies. For once, he wanted – no needed - to tell the whole truth.

“Sammy's here, asshole! You brought him here yourself! And fuck you for saying I would ever hurt my little brother!”

Stunned surprise flickered across Fuller's face for a long minute before he sat down with a thump. He glanced down at the papers in his hand as if they held answers, any answers, to what he'd just heard. When he spoke, it was in a much different tone. Dean recognized it as the humoring the crazy person tone. He'd been the recipient of it too many times not to spot it instantly.

“So the kid that you had with you is actually your brother, Sam? Am I getting this right?”

Dean shrugged and looked away, feigning unconcern. He felt mildly embarrassed at allowing himself to be goaded so easily. Dad would have given him hell for it.

“Answer me Dean. Is that or is it not Sam Winchester?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Yes, he is. Happy now?”

Fuller tapped his folder thoughtfully. “You know, the insanity defense almost never works. In your case, with your patterns and methodology, I can almost guarantee it won't.”

Dean mustered up a little righteous indignation, the best he could do for now. “Not crazy, dude. I don't expect you to believe me. It doesn't matter what you believe. None of this matters.” He felt his eyelids start to droop and pinched his arm hard to stay awake and focused. It helped some.

Fuller hummed but didn't reply for a long minute. Dean pinched himself once more before Fuller finally stood up and went to the door, calling for the guards on duty to escort Dean to his cell.

As they were unlocking his handcuffs from the table and reattaching them behind his back, Fuller finally spoke. “We'll talk some more tomorrow, Dean. In the meantime you might want to come up with a better story. Because we will find out where that boy came from. And what happened to your brother.”

Dean settled for a smirk in reply as they led him away.

 

*****

 

Nine am came much too early for Special Agents Fuller and Lejeune the next day. After they'd gotten their respective charges settled for the night they'd gotten together to compare notes and come up with a preliminary report. The Special Agent in Charge of the New Orleans Field office, Herbert Walker, had already scheduled a meeting for first thing in the morning and both agents knew better than to show up unprepared. They'd both bunked down in the building when they'd finished working in rooms kept there for that very purpose. They also came in handy for housing witnesses like the boy on a short term basis.

Walker listened to their report with his fingers steepled in front of his face. If asked, George would have said it was a classic avoidance technique, symbolically putting a barrier between himself and the world. Fortunately for him, no one had ever asked him as Walker would not have been amused.

“So what are we thinking here? Are they both nuts or what?”

George winced at the term and realized everyone was looking at him. He cleared his throat.

“While I have yet to interview Dean I can say, um, Sam, is experiencing perfectly normal trauma to be expected from someone in his situation. How he manages to cope with his experiences remains to be seen.”

Fuller jumped in. “Sam? Does he really call himself that?”

George nodded. “Yes, but as I indicated earlier, we barely spoke last night. I plan to interview him more extensively today after I've had a chance to review the Winchester file further.”

“Are you thinking Stockholm Syndrome?”

George nodded at Lejeune. “Most likely. In fact, I'd say almost certainly. While we don't know at this point how long he was in Mr. Winchester's custody and control or what exactly took place between them, it would seem at some point captive bonding took place. Sam, as we'll call him for now, did what he had to do to survive. He became Dean's missing brother for him.”

“He's safe now though. Why keep it up?”

George's eyes lit up. “Excellent question. The short answer would be that he doesn’t really believe he is safe, not yet anyway. The long answer is that he's still confused, for lack of a better word, about what's real and what's not. There are other possibilities, of course. Winchester may have threatened a family member, for example.”

Lejeune and Fuller looked at each other. Lejeune looked back at George. “I'm the official babysitter. What do I call the kid?”

“Sam, of course. It's not like we have another name for him anyway. And we'll need to break his delusions, if they exist, gently, when he's ready, not before.”

“What are the chances he's not delusional? What if his name really is Sam and Dean picked him for that very reason?”

George shrugged. “It's possible, of course.”

“But not likely.”

“No. What most likely happened was something about the boy reminded Dean of his brother and he took the boy based on that. Ipso facto, he was now Sammy.”

“And the kid's family? What do you think happened to them?”

The four men looked at each other. They all knew the likely fate of anyone who stood between Dean Winchester and something he desired. There was little chance he'd leave alive anyone who might conceivably surface at some future point and disrupt his carefully woven fantasy. 

Lejeune spoke first. “We've gone through missing child reports from here, Mississippi and Arkansas going back several weeks. Nothing even close has been reported to date. We're going to try and go through the rest of the country today.”

The Special Agent in Charge stood, signaling an end to the meeting. “Go back a year. We can't assume that Dean picked him up after Colorado. He and his brother may have had him before then, just stashed away. Don't overlook any possibilities.”

The two men nodded almost in unison as they left. George turned to the Special Agent in Charge. “Do you really think that's likely?”

Walker waved a hand dismissively. “No. But it is possible. We can't afford to leave any stone unturned if there's any chance at getting this kid home to his parents.”

It remained unspoken between them that the chances of that were highly unlikely. 

 

*****

 

Dean woke up in a pissy mood. The cavity search last night had been unpleasant at best and the bed they gave him sucked. Also, they took his clothes and gave him these stiff new jeans and a stupid looking polo shirt to wear. He felt like a tool. He at least wanted his jacket back, dammit. This was not how he wanted to spend his remaining time on earth. 

Breakfast at least was edible, though there could have been more of it. The guard at the door who'd removed his empty tray had ignored his request for seconds, with the hash browns extra crispy this time. That was the problem with Feds. No sense of humor. 

At least he had the cell to himself. That was always a plus. 

Dean perked up when the Agent from last night's interview showed up mid-morning. Yanking his chain was bound to be more fun than counting ceiling tile holes. Silently he gestured for Dean to follow him down the hall, two guards following along behind. Dean felt a vague sense of pride that he was considered such a high security risk.

They ended up in the same interview room as before. Dean eyed the metal chair with distaste before he was once again handcuffed to the table.

“You know, I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to go all Hannibal Lector on you if you leave these off.” He jangled the metal cuff against the table. The noise was jarringly loud in the small room.

Fuller smiled thinly in a way Dean was coming to hate. “That would be against the rules, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I forgot the Fed's fetish for 'The Rules'. Hey, wasn't that some chick book a while back? Something about not calling back too soon or some crap like that? And what happened to my car? It better be cherry when I get her back or heads will roll.” 

Fuller ignored Dean's attempt at deflection. “We need to know where that boy came from Dean. No more jokes. No more fooling around.”

“Sorry, charlie, you're not my type.”

Fuller swept over to him, deliberately moving into his personal space. “That boy has parents who are worried sick about him. You will tell me the truth this time. Not whatever sick fantasy you've cooked up in that diseased head of yours.”

“No, he doesn't.” 

Fuller paused. “Doesn't what?”

“Have parents who are missing him.” Dean spoke with perfect sincerity.

Fuller's brows drew together. “Because you killed them.” 

Dean shrugged, trying not to show how the agent's closeness bothered him. His fight or flight instincts were screaming at him to move. “Believe what you like. You will anyway.”

After a long, long minute the agent finally took a step back and Dean could breath again.

“How's Sammy?” The question slipped out before he consciously thought it about it, surprising both of them.

“He's fine. My partner is taking care of him personally.” The agent tapped the side of his face with his index finger. “You really care about him, don't you?”

Dean nodded as if he'd just said the sky was blue and grass was green. “Of course.” He wondered briefly where this was going.

“Okay, I'll make a deal with you. For every question you answer, I'll give you one minute of seeing Sam. Not in person, through the two way. And answer truthfully and fully, none of this smart ass bullshit you love so much.”

“In person.” Dean shot back.

“No way, no how.”

Dean considered the offer. He hated to admit it, but even after less than a day he was itching to see Sam. He needed to verify with his own eyes that Sam was alive and well. Not that this was a new thing for him. When Sam had been at Stanford, he'd invented reasons to swing through California every so often just to prove to himself that Sam was really okay. It was much worse now, the result of a combination of anxiety over his impending fate and Sam's now smaller and therefore much more vulnerable body. So he was perfectly willing to trade a few hours a day bullshitting with the fed in exchange for a few minutes of Sam time. He figured he'd just be sitting in a cell anyway, at least this way he might get some entertainment out of his day. 

“Deal.”

The fed nodded in satisfaction and Dean worried for a minute that he'd given in too soon, that he could have gotten more in exchange. Better food maybe. He pushed the thought aside. After all, he'd gotten the only thing that mattered in the end.

 

*****

 

Sam had slept fitfully, waking up several times during the night tense and worried. The room they'd given him to sleep in was too big and open, three bunk beds lined up against stark white walls. Every time he'd woken up he'd listened for Dean's breathing in the darkness, stomach twisting when he heard only the noises generated by any large institutional type building at night. He resolutely pushed aside the traitorous thought that he might have to get used to not hearing Dean at all.

After a quick visit to the adjoining bathroom he'd laid in bed, working through the story he planned to give today. He knew he'd pushed the silent traumatized kid routine about as far as he could yesterday, it was now time to come up with some answers to feed the feds. He hadn't intended to give his real name last night but he could use that to his advantage. Pretend Dean had asked him to call him that, maybe even that Dean really thought he was his brother. Which meant to keep himself from looking and sounding crazy he had to make Dean look bad. Really bad. 

Sam yawned as he thought. They would probably assume Dean had killed his “real” family when he'd kidnapped him. After all, they had a laundry list of other, equally heinous crimes that Dean had supposedly committed. What were a couple more murders added to the list?

He wondered briefly what they thought had happened to him, the grown up him. Man, this was getting complicated.

A soft tap on the door interrupted his train of thought. It opened to reveal the same agent from the night before, carrying a box of what smelled like doughnuts. 

“You're up, good. Gotcha some doughnuts. There's a real breakfast coming in a little bit too, so don't fill up on these.”

Sam tilted his head quizzically. The agent flushed. “I thought you might be extra hungry. I mean, I wasn't sure how well you'd been eating lately.”

“Dean fed me okay.”

Sam's soft answer seemed to startle the agent, who was evidently expecting the same silent boy from the night before.

“Well, that's... good. Really good. Doesn't mean we can't have a treat, now does it?” He opened the lid and took out what looked to be a cream filled pastry. Sam pushed aside thoughts of trans fats and cholesterol and reached out for one of his own. He never could resist Krispy Kremes.”

“Man, that's good. I've had an ahnvee for these all week. So look, I've got to go to this meeting thing but I'll be back in a little while, probably around the time you get through eating. I'm going to set you up with some video games and let you take it easy while we sort out some stuff.”

Sam nodded silently. It was a lot easier to resent the Feds when they were faceless bureaucrats, not nice guys who brought you doughnuts and games to make you feel better. With another promise to return soon, Agent Lejeune left.

He returned as promised, bearing a state of the art xbox and a small box of games. They made their way to the same room they'd waited in the night before which now held a television on a bulky metal roll away stand, the same kind Sam remembered from school. Lejeune quickly hooked up the system and asked Sam to pick out a game. Sam looked away, suddenly angry. This was an inexcusable waste of time. There was research to be done, things to do, important things. This was just stupid. 

When Sam didn't reach for any of the game cases but instead looked away in the distance, Agent Lejeune didn't comment. Instead he silently reached for one of the cases, studied it briefly before removing the disk inside and inserting it into the console. He handed the game controller to Sam, waiting patiently until he was sure the boy had a firm grip on the smooth plastic. He pulled one of the chairs closer to the TV and moved back to position himself on one of the couches. The tinny music of Sonic the Hedgehog echoed softly in the quiet room.

“I'm going to work for a while now, but I want you to let me know if you need anything. Okay?” He paused and waited until Sam nodded, then opened his laptop case. 

 

*****

 

After making the deal with Dean Agent Fuller left the room for a few minutes, stepping into the small adjoining room where his notes and laptop waited. He was not surprised to see Special Agent in Charge Walker there, watching the proceedings through the two way glass.

“You know he's going to play with you. Try to, that is. This is all a big game to him at this point.”

Fuller nodded. “Yup. I figure he talks long enough some truth will filter through.”

“He ask for a lawyer?”

“Not yet. He'll need one once the extradition hearings start of course, but I'm hoping we can hold that off until next week.”

“I have the distinct feeling that we are only seeing the tip of the iceberg here.”

Fuller smiled grimly at hearing the echo of his own words from yesterday. “I think so too. So far I've got four good possible cases in addition to the ones we know he committed. Hendrickson and Reidy dug up them up but never really followed up on them. Of course, they never had the chance. Everything from kidnapping to murder and all points between. A couple dozen more maybe cases. We're looking at months of investigation here, I hope you realize that. To do this thing right.”

“At least. You check on the camera? We want all this on tape. Nothing convinces a jury like words directly from the perp's mouth.”

Fuller nodded as he flipped though his notes, reviewing. “The tech guys say it's good to go.”

“Excellent.”

Fuller read for a few more minutes before gathering up his condensed handwritten notes and going back into the interview room. Showtime.

 

*****

 

Fuller sat down in the chair directly across from Dean, his yellow legal pad between them. He studied the man facing him. Smart, good looking, and a smooth talker when he wanted to be, Dean reminded him strongly of Ted Bundy. With one important difference. Bundy was a self taught killer. The Winchester brothers appeared to have been raised to be monsters. 

“I know the sheriff read this to you yesterday but I'm going to go over it again for the record. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, dude. I got it.”

“Okay. You were really close with your brother, weren't you Dean?”

“Am. I am close with him.”

“Of course. When you two were growing up you took care of him, right? Looked out for him, did all the things a parent would normally do.”

Dean shrugged. “Someone had to do it.”

Fuller smiled encouragingly. “And that was you. My question is, where was your Dad?”

Dean shifted in his chair. “He was working. Don't start on my dad, dude. He did the best he could.”

“Uh-huh. And what work would that be?”

Dean shifted again. “I'm sure all your research told you that. He was a mechanic. Damn good one too.”

“I'm sure. But that wasn't all he did, now was it Dean?”

Dean swiped a hand over his mouth. “Why don't you quit slow dancing me and get down to business?”

“See, that's the thing. Some people you've encountered over the years seem to have the impression that you and your Dad and maybe Sam too thought they were fighting monsters. Why would that be, Dean?”

Dean shrugged. “Got me, dude. People get weird ideas sometimes.”

Fuller lowered his voice. “Remember the deal. No bullshit. Straight answers or it's off.”

Dean looked away, studying the wall. “Fine. You want the truth, you got it. Monsters are real, we take care of them. End of story.”

Fuller cocked his head to one side. Dean seemed to believe what he was saying but with someone like Winchester it was hard to be sure. He'd be willing to bet that Dean himself wasn't all that clear on the truth most of the time. It was what happened when you'd lied to the extent Dean had his whole life. He literally didn't know any other way of interacting with people.

“What kind of monsters are we talking about here Dean? Werewolves, vampires, all that?” 

“And lots more. But I know you don't believe a word I'm saying so why don't you cut the bullshit.”

Fuller dipped his head, acknowledging his words being used against him.

“Fine, then tell me what you are supposed to do with monsters when you find them? Let's see, werewolves are a silver bullet, right? What else?”

Dean was clearly not enjoying this. “You want supernatural 101, go read a book. I'm not a frigging encyclopedia.”

“But it's relevant, Dean. See, nobody could understand why you were so mutable in your methods. Most serials have one method they follow. Maybe a second as a back up plan. That's about it. They go over it in their minds again and again, polishing the fantasy until it's perfect and then they strike. But not you. Stab, shoot, behead, skin alive. A dozen different methods. And why? Because you have to use the right method with the right monster. Am I right, Dean? Is that what you do?”

Dean was definitely off his game now. Fuller knew this wasn't his first or likely even his tenth time being picked up and interviewed about one thing or another. He was used to running circles around the locals who had no idea what they had in custody. It wasn't their fault, of course. They didn't have the advantages he had, all the information that let him see the big picture that was Dean Winchesters life.

Hendrickson had all the pieces, he'd done all the legwork before finally catching his white whale. But for him it had been solely about tracking the brothers and putting them away. As far as he was concerned after that was done it was up to the shrinks and the lawyers to sort through the rubble. Hendrickson truly didn't care once the brothers were locked up and unable to harm anyone. It had been his misfortune, then, to underestimate them. Fuller would learn from his mistake.

Fuller waited patiently for an answer, fascinated by the emotions flickering across Dean's face, too quickly hidden to be interpreted accurately.

“Dean?” he finally prompted.

“I'm not a monster. I don't kill people.”

Fuller smiled grimly. “That's exactly what I just said. You don't kill people. You kill monsters. That's what your father taught you to do. Am I right?”

Dean looked away, refusing to answer. 

“Is that what happened to Sam, Dean? Did you find out, after all this time, that he was a monster too?”

Dean's head whipped around, eyes wide with shock. Fuller inwardly rubbed his hands together in glee. He'd struck a raw nerve.

“It is, isn't it? Something tipped you off, and you didn't want to do it, but you had to, am I right? Had to kill the baby brother that you'd raised, that you loved.”

Dean stood up then, shoving his chair back in one swift movement, every fiber of his being vibrating with fury. “You shut your fucking mouth! I could never hurt Sammy, never, you hear me!”

Fuller concentrated on remaining outwardly calm and composed, though inwardly he felt a surge of real fear. A quick look confirmed the handcuffs were still firmly in place even as his mind flashed on gruesome autopsy and crime scene photos. He didn't really want to be alone in a room with an enraged Dean Winchester. From what he knew of the father's military background he was quite sure both boys had been raised in all forms of combat and self defense. He and Dean were pretty equally matched physically but he strongly suspected the training the FBI had given him would be no match for what Dean knew.

Coming to a swift decision he stood and backed towards the door, calling to the two guards standing just outside the door as he moved. He directed that Dean be returned to his cell for the time being. The interview was clearly over with for now. 

***** 

Sam had managed to play for an hour or so before he'd thrown down the controller in disgust. This was an appalling waste of time. Intellectually he knew it was unavoidable for now but his every instinct was telling him he had much more important things to do. He eyed Lejeune, who was peering at him carefully over the edge of his laptop screen.

“Not so much with the games, huh? Mr. Colbert, the guy you talked with last night, wanted to see you again today. In about,” he checked his watch, “twenty minutes, actually. After that I'm open to suggestions. What do you like to do?”

Sam answered honestly. “I like to read. Books. Not kid books. Real ones.” 

There was no way, of course, that he could possibly get his hands on the kind of books he needed for research. And he was pretty sure access to the internet was right out of the question as well. But he had to try something. He felt like he was going crazy here, just spinning his wheels.

He went over and sat next to Agent Lejeune, pulling out his best 'I'm just an innocent little boy' look that he'd perfected back when he actually was young, if not all that innocent. “How's Dean? Is he okay?”

Lejeune was still studying him carefully, forehead creased in thought. “He's fine. Why do you ask?”

Sam shrugged, feigning unconcern. “Just don't want him hurt, is all.”

Lejeune spoke slowly. “As long as he cooperates he'll be fine. Why do you think he might be hurt?”

Sam slanted him a look with raised eyebrows that clearly asked if he was serious. Lejeune cleared his throat. “Anyway, he's fine. Better than you, it would seem. Want to tell me what happened to your hands and arms?”

Sam looked down at the leather sofa. “It's nothing. An accident.”

Sam could tell by the look on the agent's face that he wasn't buying it but that he was willing to let it go for now. “Okay. So what kind of books do you like to read?”

Relieved at agent's willingness to drop the subject, Sam dug up a few books from his past that he remembered as being favorites around this stage of his life, one of which it turned out Lejeune had read also. They amiably discussed books and authors until the agent remembered the time and hastily escorted Sam down to the third floor, leaving him in the care of the psychiatrist in his office.

 

It had taken Dean through lunch, consisting of a sandwich and apple, and part of the afternoon to calm down. A trip down to what looked like a high tech infirmary for what turned out to be a very thorough medical exam hadn't helped his mood any. His clothes had been confiscated the day before, of course, when he'd been searched. He'd thought that was the end of it. Apparently not.

The doctor doing the exam was a very pretty and petite young woman which momentarily brightened his spirits until he realized his flirting was being met with icy silence. The situation wasn't helped by the presence of his guards, big hulking men who eyed him with the same expression normally reserved for something you were scraping off your shoe. At least there was a little wariness mixed in with the disgust, that was somewhat of a salve to his pride. The photo session was kind of fun though. At least he got to ham it up for camera.

It was late in the afternoon before his two guards escorted him back to the familiar, and now hated, interview room. Agent Fuller was waiting for him this time. 

“Feeling better now, Dean? Ready to talk again?”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, did you keep count last time? Because I didn't, on account of someone screwing with me. Tends to make me lose my place in my book.”

Fuller smiled thinly. “How about ten minutes, does that sound fair to you? Let's see if we can't add to that.”

Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I'm game. Shoot, cowboy.”

Fuller glance down at his notes. “Alright, Why don't we talk about the kid, Dean? Where did you pick him up?”

Dean spread his hands as best as he was able considering the restrictions put on him by the cuffs. “Sammy's always been with me. Well, except for that time in Stanford, but then you already know that, am I right?”

Fuller leaned forward aggressively “But he's not Sammy, is he? I think you know that. I think you needed a new Sammy to raise, am I right?”

Dean felt his smile wilt around the edges but continued gamely on. “He is Sammy. Sammy is he. Hey, I sound like a kid's book. Those notes of yours tell you that 'Sam I am' was Sammy's favorite book for like, a year? I read it to him so many times I could recite it in my sleep.”

“Don't deflect, Dean. That boy has parents out there somewhere who deserve to know their child is alive and well.”

“Didn't we have this talk yesterday?” Dean shot back.

“So give me a name I can work with Dean. A town, a state, something.”

Dean had no clue how to answer this one, so he fell back on silence as his non-answer. 

“We will find out eventually you know. With or without you.”

Dean smirked, silently doubting his assertion.

Fuller sighed in frustration. “Alright, let's move on for now. Let's talk about Colorado. Did you kill the ten people inside before or after you blew up the building?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn't kill anybody in that police station, dude. I tried to help them.”

Fuller leaned foreword “How exactly did you try to help them?”

Dean looked away. “It was demons. A whole bunch of 'em but one in particular. Killed them all. I thought I'd saved them. But I didn't.”

Fuller spoke softly in the quiet room. “Was Sam the demon, Dean? Did you have to kill him to try and save those people?”

Dean sighed. “You seriously have a one track mind, you know that?”

“So I've been told. You didn't answer the question.”

“Yeah, I did. I've told you and told you I'd never hurt Sammy.”

“So it was the explosion that killed those people?”

“No, the explosion was just a cover. It was demons. They did it.”

Fuller ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Hendrickson called in a report that you were dead a good hour or so before the explosion. How do you explain that?”

Dean smiled. It wasn't an easy smile. “Simple. He learned the truth about what's out there. I told him and he saw it with his own eyes.”

“Uh-huh. So you didn't say, put a gun to his head and order him to call in your deaths? Then execute everyone in the building? Then rig up an explosion to cover your tracks?”

“Jesus, dude. No.”

“We have people going over the evidence again on that, you know. We'll find out the truth. You can save yourself some trouble by just admitting to what you did now.”

Dean just shrugged in response. 

“Okay, let's talk about Ronald Reznick .”

Dean eyed him warily. “What about him?”

“After some investigating Hendrickson discovered that you were not in that bank that day by accident. Do you know the odds of that by the way? Just being in a bank by chance when it is being robbed? Better chance of being hit by lightening. Anyway, he found a neighbor who put you at Reznick's house the day before the attempted robbery.”

Dean shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “So?”

“So you played that poor sap, who was clearly deluded going by what was found in his house after his death. Convinced him there were monsters in the bank so you could use him as cover while you robbed the place.”

Dean snorted. “I look that stupid to you? We didn't even take anything with us that day. Not a penny.”

Fuller's smile sharpened. “Because you didn't have a chance to. Things spiraled out of control too fast and you lost control of the situation. Especially when we showed up. Then you were smart enough to know the best you could hope for was to get out without being taken in.”

Dean could see how it could look like things had gone down that way when you looked at it just right. It was miles away from the truth, of course, but he had no proof to offer, nothing except his word. And that counted for nothing. There really was nothing to say so he just looked away.

“No answer? You're losing ground here. If you want to see 'Sammy'.”

When Dean continued to maintain his silence, Fuller switched subjects once again. He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a small picture. He laid it on the table facing Dean.

“Remember him, Dean?” Dean fought to keep his face impassive but was pretty sure he was failing judging by the expression on the fed's face. “I see that you do. Do you remember his name? No? Well, it was John Bowman. 44 years old. Managed a video store in Alton, Illinois. His body was discovered in the woods,stabbed to death in the summer of 1996. Any of this ringing a bell?”

Of course it did. It had been Dean's first kill. His first of a corporeal being that looked human that is. Dad had tracked it from Wisconsin to Alabama to Illinois as it left a trail of bodies in it's wake. It had been sheer dumb luck that Dean had been the one to make the killing blow when it had circled back around them and attacked from the rear. Dean had never forgotten how still and empty the thing's (man's) face had looked. How very human it had looked. Dad had been all back slaps and a beer to celebrate and Dean had played along, but he'd had nightmares for months afterward. No one told Sammy any details but he'd known that all was not right with the center of his universe. He'd insisted on sleeping with Dean every night until Dad had put his foot down and made them start sleeping apart again. He'd never told Sammy how much his comfort had meant to him at the time, of course, too concerned with his teenaged prickly pride. He kind of thought Sammy knew though. 

Sometimes he still thought about it, especially when they came up against a monster that looked human. Those were the worst. Like those ghouls in Clinton, right after the cluster fuck in Colorado. He had no compunction in taking them out as they'd already wiped out two entire families that they knew of and would have kept on killing. It was just easier when monsters looked like monsters.

Dean looked at Fuller. Might as well go for broke. “Yeah, I remember him. I remember how the knife felt when I stuck it into his cold dead heart. That what you want to know?” He smiled grimly as Fuller leaned back away from him. It was about time the other man was off his game.

Fuller recovered quickly, however. “So you admit to killing him?”

Dean swiped a hand over his mouth. Fucking cuffs were getting on his nerves. “Sure, why not?”

“Why, Dean? You were only fourteen. Did he do something to you? Or did your father pick him out for you to kill? Was it his way of inducting you into the family business?”

Dean put his index finger on the picture and flicked it away from him. “Does it matter?”

Fuller tilted his head, considering. “Not really. I'm going to let you see Sam tonight. Fifteen minutes.”

Dean dipped his head in acknowledgment and hid his relief. He hadn't been entirely confident the fed would follow through on his end of the deal.

That evening after dinner, Dean was led into a small room dominated by a large two way mirror. Sammy was on the other side, sitting on a leather sofa and reading. He was dressed in a ridiculously oversized t shirt and looked somehow both smaller and younger than Dean remembered from just yesterday. He leaned against the glass, one palm pressed against the cool silvery surface. Agent Fuller was there, along with the omnipresent guards, but it didn't matter. This was okay. For now, anyway. He had to hope that his oh so smart little brother would find a way to get them out of this mess and soon. Selfishly, he really didn't want to die among strangers.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam perched on the edge of his seat, legs dangling. It was odd how much he missed his feet touching the floor when sitting in normal adult sized chairs. The doctors office was messy and cluttered, books piled haphazardly around the room mixed with what looked like travel mementos from various parts of the world. Sam was studying what he was pretty sure was a tribal mask from Peru when the doctor began speaking. 

“Sorry to make you wait, Sam.” He closed a folder and tucked it away in a drawer. “How are you doing here? Did you sleep okay?”

Sam paused and went with honesty. “Not really.”

The doctor nodded. “I'll bet you miss your bed at home, huh?”

Real subtle, doc, Sam thought. “I guess.”

“Here's the deal, Sam. We're trying to figure some stuff out about you and about Dean. So whatever you can tell us would be really helpful.” The doctor's eyes were kind and sincere. Sam shifted uncomfortably.

“Like what?”

“Well, why don't you tell me what you think is important to know?” 

Sam thought for a minute. “Dean was good to me. Took care of me. He never hurt me, not once.”

The doctor was nodding encouragingly. “That's good, you're doing great. Anything else?”

Sam looked down and shook his head no.

“Sam?” The doctor's voice was quieter now. “What about your family? Can you tell me about them?”

Sam met his eyes, his heart in his throat. What to say? He had no background that couldn't be quickly checked out and dismissed as false. Wait. The truth could work. Dean had always told him, stick as close to the truth as possible when running a con. 

“My Dad gave me to Dean.”

The doctor's eyes widened. “Your father … gave you to Dean? Is that right?”

Sam nodded solemnly. It was the absolute truth, on more than one level.

“And when was this, Sam?”

Sam thought quickly. “I'm not sure. A while now.”

“A month, two, three? Any guess would help, Sam,” the doctor pressed.

Sam went with when he'd been zapped. “Maybe a month.”

“That's great Sam. Can you tell me why?”

Sam just shrugged and looked away. There was no good or easy answer for that one.

“Do you remember where you were living when this happened?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere?”

Sam nodded. 

“Okay. What about your mom?”

Sam's voice got soft. “She died. A long time ago. I don't remember her.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Sam. So it was just you and your dad?”

Sam looked away, unwilling to lie about that one.

“Okay, now Sam this one is really important.” He paused. “I'm thinking Sam might not be your real name. Am I right?”

Sam scowled. “I'm Sam. No one else. Sam.”

The doctor held up a hand. “It's okay, Sam. I believe you.”

They talked for quite a while after that, especially about Sam's various injuries. Sam danced around the truth, doing his best not to give too much away about anything. It was strangely hard to lie to the doctor. He'd been a pro at it growing up. Concerned teachers and friends, the occasional CPS worker, all sincerely interested in helping him. As he got older he'd ruthlessly tamped down the part of himself that wanted to be helped, to be rescued, and brought out his best 'nothing to see here ' moves that would at least buy them time to skip town. He'd rarely felt any pangs of consciousness doing it, even knowing they would wonder and worry about him. He must have lost his touch over the years, because now he had an uncomfortable squiggle of guilt gnawing at his insides. 

Eventually he'd been rescued from the session by Agent Lejeune, who took him back to the room with the game system set up. He'd managed to scrounge up a few books for him, the only one of which that looked remotely interesting was 'House of Stairs'. He settled in to read until dinner. After eating, he read some more until Agent Lejeune had announced it was time for bed. 

As he lay in the bottom bunk bed in the darkened room, Sam thought. He brainstormed plan after plan for getting Dean out of this mess, discarding most of them as completely unworkable. Unfortunately there were still too many unknown variables for him to know which direction to go in. Eventually he was able to sleep, tossing and turning in the night.

The next day agent Lejeune told him first thing that they'd found him a place to go, “for now, until we find your folks.” His new temporary home turned out to be the agents sister and her partner who lived in the nearby Garden District. He had a change of clothes for Sam to wear out, a relief as he'd worn the same ones since he'd gotten here. Putting on the same clothes after a shower didn't feel nearly as nice.

Agent Lejeune was obviously doing his best to alleviate Sam's non-existent apprehension as he kept up a stream of reassuring conversation about his sister, Gayle, who was a doctor at Tulane hospital. He was obviously proud of her, even though Sam got the impression that he was a little bit afraid as well. She had three children, one in college and two at home. His voice got softer as he talked about Sofia, his sister's partner, who he clearly adored. 

He stopped talking as they pulled up to the house. It turned out to be a pretty two story Victorian painted a bright sunny yellow. A somewhat stocky woman in her late thirties was waiting on the large, wrap around porch. She smiled and waved as she saw them pull up to the curb.

“That's Sofia. Be nice and she'll bake you cookies.” He handed Sam a card. “You'll be seeing a lot of me, so don't think we've forgotten about you. But if you ever need to talk, or are having problems, or anything really, just give me a call. Promise I'll answer.”

Sam nodded solemnly and tucked the card away in his pocket. They walked up the sidewalk side by side giving Sam a nostalgic pang for the person who should be walking alongside him but wasn't. Sophia was still standing there, waiting patiently for them. Sam liked her immediately, a soft smile matching her own appearing on his face despite himself.

“You must be Sam,” she said gently. She looked as if she wanted to hug him but wasn't quite sure it would be welcome. Sam held out his hand as a substitute. 

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Sofia shook it gracefully. “Aren't you the gentleman? It's so nice to see manners in a boy. I've made lemonade if you two are thirsty.”

Lejeune looked torn, obviously wanting nothing more than to sit and drink lemonade on the porch with them. Sam and Sofia waited patiently for him to decide between desire and duty.

“I'd best be getting back.” he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck regretfully.

Sofia nodded. “That's alright, now, there's always another day.”

“Surely true.” He kissed Sofia's cheek goodbye and added, “Thanks for doing this,” before leaving them with a wave.

Sam shifted awkwardly. Sofia gestured at the white wicker chairs while settling herself in the one nearest the door. “We don't stand on ceremony here, Sam. I want you to act like our home is your home.” She poured him a glass of lemonade and handed it to him as he sat. The heady smell of tea roses, just beginning to bloom in the unseasonably warm spring, filled the air. He felt oddly content.

They sat in companionable silence. Sofia eventually broke it. “The kids will be home soon.”

Sam looked at her questioningly.

“Ivy and Chantel. Ivy is a boy, just so you aren't surprised. We named him after Gayle’s dad. It's a Cajun thing.”

Sam took a sip of the lemonade. It was a perfect blend of sweet and tart, clearing owing it's flavor to fruit and not powder. “Are they adopted?” he asked bluntly.

Sofia's soft smile got bigger. “Yes, we've had Ivy since he was born. Chantel has been with us for four years now. Mark is grown, at LSU. He comes home for visits when he gets to missing my cooking though, so I expect you'll meet him soon.”

Sam nodded and took another drink of his lemonade. “I don't have any clothes.” he blurted out. He flushed as Sofia looked at him with surprise. 

“You don't look naked to me,” she retorted, perfectly deadpan. “Sorry, I couldn't resist. Tom has filled us in on your, um, situation. Don't worry about it. We'll take care of everything.” 

Just then a bright yellow bus pulled up and two children spilled out, both wearing school uniforms. The boy reached them first waving a crayon drawing with a big smiley face sticker on it. “Momma! Momma!” he called excitedly. “Look at what I did.” He noticed Sam just about the time he handed Sofia the paper. 

“Very nice, Ivy! But don't you want to say hello to Sam?” The boy grinned and held out his hand. “Hey!”

Down's syndrome, Sam's brain supplied even as he took his hand and shook it. His mother corrected gently, “Pleased to meet you, Sam.”

Ivy's smile didn't waver as he dutifully parroted his mother. “Are you going to stay here with us? Because I'd like to have another brother. Mark is nice but we don't see him a lot. Momma says he's too grown up now but you aren't. You can sleep with me. I don't wet the bed or anything. Ask anyone.”

Sam's smile grew strained. “I don't know. Maybe.”

Sofia gently peeled Ivy's hand off Sam's. “That's enough, Ivy. Remember what we told you about Sam.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sam's heart twisted as the other boy's face fell. He reached out to pat him on the shoulder. 

“We can be brothers while I'm here.”

Ivy's face lit up again with that and he raced inside, calling for Sam to follow him and see what snacks they were having today. Sofia said, “I'll distract him for a while while you meet Chantel. Take your time.”

Chantel was watching them from a safe distance on the sidewalk, her posture one of watchful wariness. A good five years older than Ivy's eight or so, she wasn't all that much bigger. Except in attitude.

When her mother went inside she came forward to inspect him. “So, you're the new guy.”

Sam nodded carefully. 

“You staying for good?”

“No.” Sam answered baldly.

“Good.” With that she left him and went into the house. Sam watched her leave, bemusedly wondering if that met Sofia's definition of getting to know one another.

That evening after homework and TV time Sam finally met Gayle. She came in just as Sofia was putting the finishing touches on dinner and Ivy was setting the table. 

“Hey, cher.” She hugged Sofia from behind, startling Sam who hadn't heard her come in. He froze in place.

She turned to face Sam, who was sitting at the breakfast bar watching Sofia cook. “You must be Sam. Tommy didn't tell me you were so peeshank. Settling in okay?” At Sam's nod, she continued, “My beb filled you in on the house rules yet?”

“Now, Gayle...”

“Sofia. I'm sure Sam would rather know right up front how to stay out of trouble than find out later when it's too late. Am I right, Sam?”

Sam nodded, beginning to understand why Tom was a little afraid of his sister.

“Mais, no swearing, everyone's inside at dusk, homework before TV, not after, one hour of TV a day, everyone has chores,” she pointed at a list prominent on the refrigerator, “and most especially, no fighting. That's it. Any questions?”

Sam shook his head mutely. 

“Good. Just so we're clear, I'm the strong arm of the law. So I better not hear about you taking advantage of Sofia's way too nice nature. Got it?”

Sam couldn't help but grin at that. Gayle was almost a foot shorter than Sofia and probably half her weight. Even so, he didn't doubt her for a minute.

“Am I going to school?” he asked, fingers mentally crossed. Sofia and Gayle looked at each other. 

“Not right now. In a week or so, maybe.” Sofia answered. 

“Okay. Can I get a library card?”

Gayle raised an eyebrow at the question. “I don't see why not? Beb?” Sam had a moment of confusion before he realized she was talking to Sofia.

Sofia nodded while stirring the pot of red beans and rice she was cooking. “I'll take you tomorrow. Right now, dinner's ready.”

Dinner was a mostly relaxed and quiet meal. Chantel, he gathered from the concerned looks Sofia kept shooting her, was being unusually quiet. Ivy did most of the talking, narrating his day in impressive detail. Sam cleared the plates and started washing up without being asked. He looked up from the sink to find Chantel glaring at him.

“Tonight's my night for dishes.” She pointed at the list on the fridge meaningfully.

Sam's brow creased in confusion. “Um, okay. Do you want some help?”

“No. Do them when it's your turn. Now move. You're in my way.”

Sam raised his hands signaling cease fire and stepped away from the sink. It was the first time he'd ever gotten into trouble for helping out with the housework. 

Sofia caught wind of the minor confrontation and guided Sam out to the living room where Gayle and Ivy were reading a book. “Don't mind her, Sam. She's a little....” 

“Territorial.” Gayle finished, not looking up from Cat in the Hat.

“Yes. It will get better.”

It didn't bother Sam. She clearly had issues that his arrival had stirred up. He'd be gone soon anyway and she, along with the rest of this little household, would get back to normal.

*****

The next few days for Dean were a round of interviews interspersed by long periods of boredom. Agent Lejeune took turns with him now, sometimes by himself, sometimes with Fuller. Eventually it dawned on Dean that Sam was no longer in the building. He went on strike until he was reassured that their deal still stood. Sam would be coming back for periodic visits.

The interviews were mostly repetitive, circling back around the same topics over and over. Every once in a while one of the agents would pull out a new case they'd dug up from somewhere. At least it was something different to talk about. He began to be reluctantly impressed by their thoroughness. Some of the people and places they drudged up he'd forgotten about. Others he just wished he had. 

As he didn't see much point in prevaricating he answered their questions pretty much accurately always being careful to leave Sam's involvement, if any, out of it. The situation could have been worse, he knew. Even so, he chafed under the forced inactivity and pestered his caretakers relentlessly until they let him have supervised visits to the on site exercise room for a hour a day, late in the evenings when the building was mostly empty. After that he slept a little better.

*****

Sofia took Sam to the library as promised and let him take his time poking around it's various nooks and crannies before choosing the three books he was allowed as a new card holder. Afterward they went to The Shops on Canal street to buy clothes. He was more than a little intimidated by the upscale atmosphere as most of his clothes shopping throughout his life had been done at Goodwill, and that only when times were good. So he was frankly relieved when they stepped out into the warm New Orleans midday sun and Sofia suggested a muffaletta from Central Grocery for lunch. They ate it at Cafe du Monde, sipping cafe au lait and finishing it all off with beignets for dessert. Even though they'd only gotten a half it had still taken the two of them to finish the sandwich. Sam wondered if anyone ever ate a whole one all by themselves. Even Dean would have trouble finishing it on his own.

They returned home the same way they'd come to the French Quarter, by streetcar. Sam leaned his head out of the window slightly, letting the gentle breeze blow through his hair. He wondered if there actually was a streetcar named desire but caught himself just before he blurted out the question. He was pretty sure most preteens wouldn't get the reference. When they got up to leave at their stop, Sophia reached over and finger combed his hair back into place. Sam's mouth tightened and he looked away. Jess used to do the same thing when his hair had gotten mussed.

That evening Sam asked for a notebook and pen and got to work on his now threefold project. Numbers one and two on the list were, of course, getting Dean out of FBI custody and breaking the deal he'd made. Restoring himself to his rightful body was such a distant third that he didn't bother working on it for now. There would be time for that later.

The next few days were quiet for Sam. He had gone back twice more to the FBI field office to meet with Dr. Colbert. The meetings were pretty non-productive from Sam's point of view. Agent Lejeune escorted him there and back both times. The last time he'd let himself be talked into staying for dinner, claiming loudly that no sane person could turn down Sofia's pot roast. Sam had to admit, it was a pretty good pot roast.

It was all such a bittersweet echo of the life he'd wanted for so long, first with Dad and Dean, then with Jess. Dinner together, consisting of real home cooked food, served at the same table every night. A home, lived in and well loved. A full refrigerator. Knowing the bed he slept in that night would be the same one he'd be in tomorrow. No sleazy landlord coming around every few days looking for rent that they didn't have to give. No gnawing worry about the people he loved most in the world leaving and never coming back again. Safe. Calm. Normal.

But not his. He knew now that it was never meant for him. And he'd accepted it, mostly. But sometimes, watching this family have everything he'd once wanted so very badly, a white hot rage burned through him, leaving him hollow and empty inside. One evening after he'd let himself be drawn into a game of UNO when the memory of playing cards with Jess and her family the last Christmas they spent together hit him. For one instant he could smell the popcorn they had been eating that night, rich and buttery, and feel Jess's hand holding his, her beautiful blue eyes full of warm love. The bitter anger at all he'd lost and would never have again swelled up inside him, twisting painfully around his heart until he could barely breath. He looked up to find Gayle watching him, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He quickly forced a smile and jostled Ivy playfully. Still, he felt her eyes on him several times that evening.

*****

Friday night Dean dreamed he he was trapped inside an old fashioned pine coffin. He pushed on the lid only to realize it was nailed shut. In the distance he heard a young boy scream, shrill and panicky. He began pounding inside his wooden tomb growing ever more frantic as the screams outside became more intensely piercing. Dean woke up with his heart beating a rapid tattoo and covered in sweat. He spent the rest of the night staring at the wall, reminiscing about the past. The people he helped and the ones who were beyond saving. The ones he could have saved if only he'd been a little faster, a little smarter. The interviews were stirring up too many memories that had been better forgotten.

Sometimes Dean thought this whole fiasco was a blessing in disguise. While it would suck to miss out doing his favorite things one last time; devouring a juicy bacon cheeseburger the size of his head, watching Army of Darkness with Sammy, opening up the Impala on the open road, at least Sammy would be safe. In here, he wouldn't be tempted to look for a way out the deal. He was pretty sure he wouldn't do it in any case but panic was starting to build inside him, way down deep where he could usually pretend it didn't exist. But late at night when he had nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company he heard them. The hounds, baying for his blood. They were far away in the distance for now. But growing ever closer, day by day.

Dean always knew he'd die young and bloody. It was a fact of life for hunters that not many lived to reach a ripe old age. The only thing that ever really bothered him about the prospect was leaving Sam alone and unprotected. The loss of his soul, well, that was another story. That terrified him down to his marrow. 

He'd seen evil, both human and otherworldly. Literally stared it in the face. But it was balanced by the good he saw. Parents who unhesitatingly threw themselves in harm's way to save their child. Strangers who stepped in to help at just the right desperately needed moment, for no other reason than it was the right thing to do.

In hell there was no corresponding good. Only unremitting and everlasting evil. Enough to erode a man's soul like a river through a canyon, leaving behind only a gaping nothingness. This was his greatest fear, that he would become the thing he'd hunted for so long, eventually returning to earth with black eyes and a blacker heart to undo the little bit of good he'd managed to accomplish in his short life. 

Sammy said he'd save him. Keep both of them safe and out of hell. He couldn't help, wouldn't help him do it but everything in him prayed he'd find a way to pull it off.

First, though, he had to get out of here. 

*****

 

Sam met Mark on Saturday when he showed up early that morning to go along on a family trip to the Aquarium of the Americas. Chantel and Sophia weren't quite ready to leave yet so he invited Sam to go outside to play catch while they waited “for the females to stop dithering,” as Mark put it.

Mark was clearly Gayle's biological child, having her features and small stature. His disposition was much less guarded than his mother's however, his smile open and friendly where hers was smaller and sometimes brittle. 

“I'm going to go easy on you, kid.” Mark said as he lobbed an easy pitch in Sam's direction. “Don't know if anyone's mentioned it yet or not, but I got a full baseball scholarship to LSU.”

Sam caught the ball easily before tossing it back. “It may have been mentioned. A few dozen times.”

Mark laughed. “Let me guess. La mère ?” 

Sam was puzzled as to which of the mothers he was referring to for a minute before he remembered that he'd heard Mark call Sophia that as he'd greeted her with a hug. “Um, yeah. But Gayle too.”

Mark threw the ball again. “Gotta say, it's nice to have some more testosterone around here. I always feel bad for Ivy, outnumbered by all the women folk.”

Sam smiled. “It's not so bad.” And it wasn't. Sophia had taken him under her wing immediately, plying him with home baked cookies and hugs. Gayle didn't see him as the wounded baby bird that Sophia so obviously did but Sam had no doubt she'd protect him as well as any of her own kids if need be. 

“They're great, aren't they? Things weren't so hot for Mom and me before she met Sophia, you know. She was in medical school and trying to take care of me and there was never enough money or time or anything to go around. Things were way better after they got together. Sophia was teaching back then and all of a sudden we had a nicer place to live and Sophia was there to pick me up from school every day and Mom was just happier.”

Sam wondered which of the Moms had put Mark up to his little speech. Most likely Sophia, he thought, though he could be wrong. 

“Okay,” he said.

“Did you know Chantel had leukemia a while back? Seven years old, maybe dying, and her dirt bag parents skip out on her while she's still in the hospital. Just took off without even a goodbye. Lucky for her Mom heard about it from a friend and started visiting her. When she got better, the Moms went through being certified as foster parents just so they could give her a place to stay. And then adopted her. So, you know, it was pretty crappy for her for a while but I'll bet things are way better for her now than if she'd still been with those assholes she used to call parents.” He paused to run after a wild ball Sam had thrown wide. “Ivy was abandoned too. His Mom took off at the hospital right after having him. And then there was Katrina. We were luckier than most 'cause the house was pretty easy to put back together and we didn't lose anyone close to us, but still. It was pretty horrible. Mom stayed behind at Charity with the patients which was even more horrible.” He paused again to slap at a mosquito on his leg. “Anyway, point is, no matter how bad things look right now, they'll get better.”

Sam hadn't realized his behavior was causing this level of concern among the household. He did spend a lot of time by himself in his erstwhile bedroom, clearly the former guestroom, but that was only because it was hard to concentrate in the sometimes chaotic living areas downstairs. He sighed. It really couldn't be helped. Time was too precious now to waste it playing monopoly.

“I'm doing okay, you know. I just need some time to process. To deal.”

Mark nodded as he took off his Saints cap and wiped his eyes. “What's say we go see if the girls are finally ready, yeah?”

Everyone was ready by then and whole family piled into the minivan for the trip. Ivy and Chantel fought over who would get to sit next to Mark, with Mark settling the argument by agreeing to sit beside one on the way there and one on the way home. Ivy got first turn,much to his delight. He spent the short trip talking a mile a minute to his brother, who listened with admirable patience.

A busker was playing near the entryway on the riverwalk, his sax mournful in the cool morning spring air as the man beside him accompanied him with the words to St. James Infirmary. Sophia stopped to listen and finally had to be tugged away by the two younger children. As they walked away Sam saw her drop a bill into the case lying open in front of the sax player's wheelchair. His friend smiled and waved at them, teeth flashing white against his dark skin.

Once inside Ivy headed immediately to the petting tank filled with the biggest catfish Sam had ever seen. He laughed loudly with unrestrained glee every time one brushed against his hand while Chantel rolled her eyes. Chantel's favorite exhibit was the shark tank with a tunnel through the middle that you could walk through. Sam had to admit that was pretty cool. Sam in turn was fascinated by the seahorses, their delicate bodies looking ethereal as they floated in their tanks, softly back lit with an aquamarine blue.

“I had no idea there were so many different species of seahorses before coming here the first time.” Gayle said from just behind him.

Sam traced a finger along the cool glass of the tank while it's inhabitants danced inside, oblivious to his presence. “Me neither.”

“Having fun?”

Sam nodded. It was true. Even if he felt guilty for doing so.

“C'mon. Time to round everyone up and head out. I'm starving.”

Ivy had been difficult to pry away from a circular tank of schooling fish so it was some little while before they finally left. As they were leaving Sam trailed behind the others a little bit, watching Mark hold Ivy's chubby hand on one side, Chantel's caramel brown one on the other. He missed Dean so fiercely then that tears came to his eyes, remembering how Dean insisted on holding his hand at every road and parking lot crossing right up to the age of seven or eight, when Sam had insisted he was too old to be treated like a baby. 

He was pretty sure no one saw him. That would have been embarrassing. 

*****

Sophia met with Dr. Colbert early the next week, leaving Sam in the small waiting area just outside.

“Sophia!” he greeted her. “So nice to see you again. How are the kids?”

“Mark made player of the month last year, Chantel made the Dean's list again and Ivy has learned to tie his shoelaces,” she rattled off as she settled into the leather chair across from Colbert's desk.

“Hm, well, that's impressive.” His eyes were twinkling furiously and Sophia suspected he was laughing at her. “Anyway, I asked you to come here today to talk about Sam's progress. How would you say he'd doing overall?”

Sofia considered the question for a long moment. “Well, he's eating okay. Could eat a little more but not too bad. I don't think he sleeps very well though. I've seen the light on in his room a few times when I've gotten up in the night.”

“Is he skittish? Withdrawn?”

“He's a little skittish but definitely withdrawn. I have to coax him out of his room every day. And he didn't want to go to mass with me on Sunday. Do you think that means anything?”

He coughed and looked down at this papers. “Probably nothing more than not being very religious. Have you seen any anger or irritability?”

Sophia shook her head. “No, if anything he's too calm. Very mature for his age. Doesn't squabble with Ivy and Chantel at all, even when Chantel tries to pick a fight with him. He's even deescalated a few fights.” She paused. “George, I know you have to maintain doctor patient privilege but if you can tell me anything to help us be better parents for him... I just don't think we're doing a very good job.”

George stood up and came around his desk to put one hand on Sophia's shoulder. “I am completely convinced that is not true. Take it from me, you and Gayle are doing a great job. Sam has a long way to go. We still know almost nothing of what happened during his time with Dean. What he went through. Or about his family life before Dean. I suspect it was not what you would call the best situation.”

“What do you mean?”

George sat down in the chair next to her. “I don't really know any details. Sam is still being very cagey with me at this point. We don't even know if Sam is really his name or not.”

“I just, just feel so bad for him. All on his own like he is. After everything. Do you, do you think he was... abused by that man? In any way?”

“I'm not ruling it out. Winchester is a dangerous amoral man who has turned his back on society's rules to live by his own. Either way, the best thing you can do is to keep doing what you are doing. Being patient with him but don't let him isolate himself too much. Modeling a normal family dynamic to show him whatever he had with Winchester wasn't okay. Most of all just be there for him when he's ready to talk.”

Sophia made a conscious effort to stop twisting her hands together in her lap, a habit that emerged when she was especially anxious. “I can do that.”

“Of course you can. And remember, I'll be here if you need me. Why don't you send Sam in now.”

Sophia picked up her purse and left with a soft goodbye, calling Sam inside as she did. 

*****

The next day in their daily morning briefing Special Agent in Charge Walker dropped a bombshell on the group. He wanted Dean transferred to nearby Angola prison for the time being, getting him out of their hair. 

When Fuller protested he over rode him, stating that Winchester would be as safe or safer locked up there as he was in their custody. Everyone knew there had never been a successful escape from the infamous prison. The few who had tried never made it past the deadly swamps that surrounded the compound.

“He's tying up too much of our resources and staff, keeping him here. You can interrogate him just as well there as here.”

Fuller conceded the point. It was true he and Lejeune needed to get out anyway and do some legwork on what they knew or suspected. Things Winchester had told them needed to be backed up with hard evidence, witness statements, and so forth. There was only so much they could do from behind a desk. He tapped the table in front of him with his pen.

“When are you thinking?”

“Day after tomorrow. That should give you time to wrap up any loose ends. I've already talked with the warden. Since our guest is such a renowned escape artist they're taking special precautions.” Walker paused and cleared his throat. No one spoke. “So, anyone have anything to report?” 

Lejeune and Fuller exchanged glances. Fuller spoke. “The forensic accounting guys have given us something interesting. About six weeks before his arrest and less than a week after the Colorado explosion, a Mr. Rickey Medlocke was staying in the Starlight motel in Clinton, Louisiana. Around the same time the Talbot and Leblanc families, seven people in total, disappeared off the face of the earth. One family lived in Clinton itself and one in St Francisville. No sign, no clues, just one day they were there and the next they weren't.”

“You think there was a third family whose disappearance hasn't been discovered yet. And our Mr. Winchester is responsible for all of them.” Walker filled in.

“Wait, do you think that's where he picked up Sam?” George added.

Lejeune spread his hands. “The time line fits. And if a family were isolated, say out in the country...”

“The kid would have to be home schooled. If his disappearance hadn't been reported yet. Doesn't seem very likely.” Walker chipped in.

“There's another possibility we need to consider.” George said and paused as all heads turned to face him, alerted by his tone. “Sam has stated to me that he was given to Dean by his father.”

“Do you think he meant it literally?” Fuller asked. It was a stomach churning prospect, somehow even worse than a family being murdered to kidnap a child. They had had cases like that come through their office before, though not all that often. Generally those who sold their children did so to desperate childless couples, though there had been a few documented cases of people selling them to pedophiles and kiddie porn producers. Those unfortunate children were almost never recovered alive, partly because no one reported them missing in the first place. The parents would move and in the new town or city, no one would even know there had ever been a child. 

Could this have happened to Sam? Could his own father have sold him to Dean?

“Its a possibility. We don't want to rule anything out until we've thoroughly investigated all possibilities. After we get Winchester shipped off would be a good time for you two to spend a few days in Clinton checking out this lead. Anyone have anything else?”

Lejeune spoke up. “The forensics guys finally finished going over Winchester's car. An arsenal in the trunk but otherwise pretty clean. Possible DNA, it's still in testing. They found a few receipts that may give us new leads.”

George spoke up. “Something you all may want to consider as you investigate. I suspect Winchester may have made Sam complicit in one or more crimes. As a way of controlling him.”

“What do you mean?” Lejeune looked concerned.

“An excellent method of convincing someone that they have no choice but to throw their lot fully in with yours is to force them to commit a crime with you, making them feel like they are just as much a criminal as their captors.”

“Why do you believe that's what happened here?”

“A hunch, mostly. But I suspect it may be why some of the other witnesses to the brother's crimes have been so strangely reluctant to come forward, sometimes even defending them.”

“Yes, well, it's something to keep in mind. Thanks George. Anything else? No? Then let's get to work.”

With that they all left to start their respective days.

***** 

Sam was washing the breakfast dishes when the phone rang in the living room. He glanced around when Sophia didn't answer right away. After three rings, the answering machine picked up.

“Sophia this is Tom. I need you to call me back. Thanks. Bye.”

Sam thought for a minute then raced into the master bedroom where Sophia kept her cell phone next to the bed at night. She hated carrying it around when she was at home, only taking it out with her when she left the house shopping and running errands.  
Sure enough, there it was. And it was ringing. He quickly stuck it in his pocket and ran back to the answering machine to erase the recording. He then ran upstairs to the children's bathroom to listen to the message left there.

As he suspected he might, Tom left a more detailed message on the cell, where it couldn't be overheard.

“Sophia, call me. In case we miss each other, I need to let you know we'll be transferring Winchester the day after tomorrow to Angola. So it would be best if you didn't let Sam out of the house then. And you especially don't want to bring him by here. Just, you know, to be on the safe side. So, um, that's it then. Call me. Bye.”

Sam felt his heart begin to pound and his vision got blurry, just for a moment. He began blindly punched buttons attempting to delete the message. He finally succeeded on the third try. 

This was it. Time was up. Once Dean went into Angola he most likely wouldn't be let out again for anything less than his trial. That would be months or even years away. Even if he were let out to be extradited to another state, Sam would have no way of knowing that in advance. This was his best chance.

Sam went into his bedroom, closing and locking the door. He pulled out his notebook with all his carefully detailed plans, most of which he'd already discarded as being unworkable. The ones that were left all involved various levels of risk; to Dean, to himself, to innocent bystanders. Gnawing his lip he scanned the list, crossing out some, putting a check mark beside others. 

Through his door he heard the front door close. “Sam? I'm back from my walk.” Sophia called up.

“Okay!” he yelled back through the door. Normal, he reminded himself. Act normal, not suspicious, or you'll give yourself away.

Sam listened to make sure there were no footsteps coming up the stairs before hurrying to return the phone to the exact position he'd gotten it from. On second thought, he picked it back up and put it in his pocket. He might need it later.

He went back downstairs to find Sophia finishing up his abandoned chore. “Oh, I'm, uh, sorry, I was doing it but...”

Sophia smiled at him as she rinsed the last plate in the stack. “No big deal. Everything okay?”

“Sure. I'm just going to go upstairs for awhile.”

“Okay Sam. Call me if you need anything.”

Sam went back to his list. His mind raced as he ran through the possibilities, discarding one after another. Finally he was left with only one. One he'd really hoped he would never have to do. If everything went just right no one would be hurt, but the chances for a misstep were high. Worse, it would mean betraying these people he'd come to care about, betraying them in a very fundamental way. But he needed to be ruthless here. He had to think of Dean first and everyone else second. He knew without a doubt Dean would not approve of his plan but he could live with that, and Dean would learn to live with it as well. As long as he was still around to yell at him about it Sam would take it as a win.

He checked the clock. Ten am. Five hours until go time. 

Sam used the time gathering up the things he wanted to take with him into an old backpack of Chantel's he found in the back of her closet. He felt a small pang of guilt packing the nice expensive clothes his hosts had been nice enough to buy for him but he reasoned no one there could use them anyway. Someone might as well get some use out of them.

A few toiletries were added to the pockets. After some thought, he crept down to the kitchen and took a few small snack items that he could easily carry with them, mostly chips and candy. He eyed a plated of fresh baked peanut butter cookies longingly but didn't dare take any with him as they would be missed too easily. The last thing to consider were the library books. To not return them was anathema to his book loving soul. Two he was mostly done with anyway, not having been of much use. The third he'd barely started going through. With some reluctance he slid it into the backpack along with his notebook, saying a little prayer begging forgiveness to the Gods of the Library as he did so.

Now he just had to wait. To kill time and show his gratitude to his temporary family Sam stripped the bed and tidied the room. He took the sheets downstairs and put them in the washer. As he left the laundry room he saw Sophia outside working in the garden, so he went out and offered to help. Keeping busy, he knew from experience, was usually quite helpful in steadying shaky nerves. 

Sophia accepted with a grateful smile. They worked together until well past lunch, losing track of the time as they pulled weeds and talked about nothing in particular. Sam refused to let himself be sad about his imminent departure. After all, he'd known all along he'd be saying goodbye sooner rather than later. It wasn't like he didn't have plenty of practice at it.

When they were done eating lunch Sam went upstairs to fetch the backpack he'd prepared. He waited until Sophia was preoccupied and went outside, stashing it out of sight in the azalea bushes, just beginning to bloom with big purple buds. 

After what seemed like an eternity the school bus finally arrived, disgorging it's two passengers like clockwork. Ivy was first like always, smiling and excited to be home. Chantel, at the age when being cool was becoming all important, followed at a more sedate pace. He waited until Chantel pulled out her cell phone and was distracted with texting her friends before he struck.

“Hey, Ivy, you want to go to the park with me?”

Ivy's eyes lit up. The small local park was one of his favorite places to go. Only two blocks away, they had walked there a couple of times as a family. Then Ivy frowned. “Not 'aspossed to go alone.”

“You won't be alone. I'll be with you. Mom said it was okay.” Ivy frowned and chewed on his lower lip. Sam held up a package of cookies and two juice boxes. “I've got snacks,” he threw in as an extra enticement. 

“Okay!” Ivy reached for the cookies only to have Sam pull them back out of reach. 

“Uh-uh. Not until we get to the park. C'mon, let's go.”

It was as easy as that. With any luck, neither Sophia nor Chantel would notice their absence until it was too late. Even if they did, there shouldn't be enough time for them to interfere in the plan.

They walked at a steady pace on the warm sidewalk, Sam holding Ivy's hand to keep his from lagging behind, Ivy chattering all the way. He was explaining to Sam why bologna was better than peanut butter sandwiches when Sam began to slow, the better to scrutinize the license plates of the cars parked on the quiet residential street. When he had picked two likely prospects he asked Ivy to stop for a minute, giving him a juice box to occupy him for the time it would take him to work. Sam withdrew a small Phillips head screwdriver from his pocket and knelt down behind the first car. Working quickly, he removed the license plate and moved to the other car he'd selected parked nearby. He removed its plate as well and put the plate from the first car on it. Moving back to the first car he repeated the process.

Sam stood and cautiously surveyed the street for observers. That had been much easier to get away with as a kid. One of the few perks of his new size.

“Almost there, Ivy. We're going to stop off over here for a few minutes first, okay?”

Ivy nodded, his attention still on the juice box he was busy draining. He bent over to examine a caterpillar balanced precariously on a weed growing in the cracks of the sidewalk but followed Sam obediently when he said it was time to go.

Sam made the call as they walked through the big iron gates. He'd long ago memorized Tom's cell number but he double checked to see if it was the same number Tom had called from earlier. It was.

“Tom.”

A pause, then a cheerful, “Sam! Mon Ami, it's good to hear from you, is everything okay?”

“No.” Sam's voice changed from the light boyish tone he'd been so careful to use around the civilians. Now it held a deep determination and all the menace he could muster. “No, Tom, it's not alright. Because you have my goddamn brother locked up for something he didn't do. Because you and your fed buddies treat him like a monster when he's a fucking hero. So no, things are not okay.”

Tom's voice changed now, becoming low and worried. “Sam, what...”

Sam scanned the rows of above ground vaults, looking for the best vantage point for watching the entrance while remaining out of sight. “So here's what you're going to do. You're going to go get him, right now. Make an excuse to whoever you need to. Make it good and believable. Then you're going to go get in your car with him and start driving south on Press Drive. I'll call you again in seven minutes. And if you don't, Tom, I'm going to gut your nephew like a fish. He's going to be a foot away from me at all times. I'm holding your sister's favorite knife, Tom. You know, the one that belonged to your mother. All I have to do is slice through the abdominal wall and his guts will come spilling out on the ground. He'll die, Tom, but it will be slow and it will be painful and you'll have to be the one to tell Gayle and Sophia that you could have stopped it, you could have saved him.”

Throughout his speech Tom's breathing had gotten more and more labored until he was practically panting with fear. Sam smiled grimly. He had him.

“Sam, what, how, what the hell are you talking about!”

“Shush, Tom, don't let on to anyone that something's wrong or you'll spoil it all. Anyone but you and my brother show up here and he's dead. Don't doubt me for a second.” Sam put all his anger over the stupid situation Dean was in, all the lies he'd had to listen to about him, all his fear over Dean's going to hell into his voice. All this depended on Tom believing him absolutely. It was just as important that he be kept off balance, too afraid of the consequences of defying him to even consider not following Sam's instructions to the letter.

“How, how do I know you even have him?”

Sam smiled at Ivy who was watching him with a frown on his little face. “Hey, buddy, it's your Uncle Tom. Say hello, okay?”

Ivy handed Sam his now empty juice box and obediently took the phone from Sam's outstretched hand. “Pa-ran,” was all Sam let him get out before he took the phone back.

“Seven minutes. I'll do it in a heartbeat to save Dean. Go. Now.” With that he closed the phone, heart pounding in his ears. Now all there was left to do was move into position and wait. The Winchesters weren't exactly known for their luck but maybe this time it would be different. All he could do was hope.

*****

 

Dean knew something was wrong the minute Agent Lejeune came into the room. He looked pale and sweaty, the strain clear in his face. Fuller looked up from the folder in the hands.

“You don't look so good, Tom, you okay?” Fuller asked idly.

“What? Oh, yeah, just, you know that burrito I had for lunch coming back on me.” 

Fuller chuckled. “I warned you about Illegal Pete's, now didn't I?”

Tom laughed as well, his sounding decidedly forced. “You sure did. Listen, I've got to take him down to the lab. Those blood samples they took got contaminated somehow.”

Fuller's brow furrowed. “Huh. Okay. I'm going to head back to my desk and make some calls while you're doing that, let me know when it's done.”

“Sure thing. Let's go, Dean.” Tom unlocked the handcuffs from the table and fastened the free end to Deans other wrist.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Something was up and Dean was pretty sure it had nothing to do with a bad burrito.

His suspicions were confirmed when Lejeune turned to his guards and curtly told them to take a break. They looked at each other in mild confusion but weren’t about to turn down some free time. It was only when the elevator they were in began descending to the parking garage level that Dean started to get concerned. Nothing good came of a cop taking you off by yourself away from potential witnesses.

“What's...”

“Shut it, Winchester and get in the car.”

Dean shut it and got in, mind whirling with possibilities. Maybe Sam had somehow engineered this?

They whipped out of the underground garage heading down an unfamiliar street. Through the window Dean could make out a large park on the driver's side of the car. He tried one more time. “Seriously, dude, what's going on? I'm freaking out here.”

“You're freaking out? You are? That's really funny, Winchester. You wanna know what's going on? I'll tell you. That psychotic kid you brainwashed is what's going on. He's holding my nephew hostage, threatening to gut him like a fish!”

Dean's mind froze for a long minute. Sammy did that? 

“Yes, 'Sammy' did that. Little bastard. I knew something was up. Okay I didn't, but I should have. Dammit!” Lejeune slammed his fist into the steering wheel.

Huh. He must have said that out loud. “Where are we going?”

Just then Lejeune's cell phone rang.

“You've got him?” Dean heard clearly from the other end. Sammy.

“Yes, I've got him, now what?”

“Get on the 10 going east. I'll call you again in five minutes.” The line disconnected. 

Swearing, Tom did as he was told, weaving in and out of traffic at a high rate of speed, just barely making the exit. 

“Dude, you better take it easy or we're going to attract some unwanted attention. That's not going to help anybody.” 

Lejeune swore again but did slow down somewhat. The next time the phone rang Dean snatched it out of his hand before he could answer. Tom glared at him but didn't fight him over it.

“Sam? What the hell are you doing?” 

“Saving your ass, that's what. Tell the fed to get off on 90 going east.”

“Get off on 90 going east.” Dean told Lejeune, then turned back to the phone.

“You're threatening a kid? Seriously?”

“I've got to think of you right now, Dean. That's the bottom line. Tell him to get off on St. Charles.”

Dean repeated the instruction. “Are you okay?”

Sam laughed. It wasn't pleasant. “Yeah, Dean. I'm fine. You?”

“No problems. Except I think my driver is about to have an aneurism.” 

“Grab the wheel if he does,” Sam deadpanned. “Tell him to get off at Washington and stop in front of Lafayette Number One.” 

Dean did as he was told.

“I'll see you in about ten minutes Dean. Try to stay alive until then.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, Sammy, you too.”

*****

They should be almost there. Any minute now he'd see Dean face to face. It had only been a little over a week but it felt much, much longer since he'd seen him last. Ivy was getting restless again so Sam broke out the cookies, opening the packet for him and handing them to him with a smile. Ivy smiled back tentatively, so unlike his usual open sunny smile that Sam's heart twisted. 

He'd been trying hard not to dwell on what a scumbag thing this was to do, concentrating instead on how good it would feel to leave this place behind with Dean at his side. But there was no denying it was a pretty low thing to do to the people who'd shown him nothing but kindness. An image of Sofia’s sweet face, twisted with grief and hurt flashed in his mind, followed closely by Chantel's and Gayle's pain at his betrayal. The only one likely to be largely unaffected by all this, ironically, was Ivy himself. Sam was pretty sure that as far as he was concerned this was a slightly confusing adventure with his temporary brother. 

Sam traced the words carved into the stone he was facing with his pinky, his skin catching on the rough weathered surface. 'Julia – Beloved wife of John H. Dribble – departed this life Jan 10, 1849 of Cholera – in her 22nd year of age.' He wondered where Julia was now and if she was truly at peace. If there was such a thing as heaven like Pastor Jim promised, with it's eternal rest. Peace would be nice. He'd known precious little of it in this lifetime. It made sense though, didn't it, if there were demons who came from a place of evil, that there had to be a corresponding place of good. The universe was all about balance after all. Yin and yang. His musings were broken by the sound of a car pulling up near the gates outside. He flipped open the phone.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, we're here.”

“Come inside the gate.”

He heard Dean talking to Lejeune on the other end echoed by his voice in the distance. Sam reached down and took Ivy by the hand. “Let's go see your Uncle, I mean your Pa-ran now, okay?” Ivy followed Sam docily. He saw Tom startle as they stepped out from behind the crypt, followed closely by a distinct look of relief.

And there he was. Dressed in street clothes, thank God, as he hadn't thought to bring him something to change into if Dean had been wearing one of those hideous orange jumpsuits designed to make prisoners stand out like a sore thumb.

Time to get out of here before it all went to shit.

“Handcuffs.” Sam barked out with his ridiculous high voice. Lejeune jumped and fumbled in his pocket, pulling out keys. His eyes were locked on the knife Sam held in his hand. The knife that was pointed right at his nephews midsection.

As soon as Dean was unlocked Sam made eye contact with him and pointed at a pipe sticking up out of the ground set in a concrete base. Dean nodded and attached one cuff to the agents wrist, the other to the metal pipe. Sam took a long sleeved t shirt out of his backpack and tossed it to Dean. 

“Gag him.” Dean stuffed part of the shirt in the agents mouth and tied the arms around his head, making a crude but effective gag. Sam turned to Ivy. “Hey, buddy, I need you to stay here and take care of your Pa-ran for a while, okay?”

Ivy nodded, wide eyed. As Sam started to walk away he was stopped by sixty six pounds of determined little boy. Chubby arms wrapped around Sam's middle in a firm hug. “Bye Sammy. I love you.”

Sam bit his lip as his eyes began to burn. No regrets. “Love you too, little brother. Now go take care of your uncle okay? Be a good boy.” Ivy's head nodded against Sam's side then he mercifully let him go. 

“Bye, Sammy.” Ivy sat down next to his wild eyed uncle and waved to them cheerfully. He didn't stop waving until they were out of sight.

Sam quickly led them to the nearest car with the switched license plate, taking out his homemade jimmy tool as they walked. He slipped it into the crack between the window and the drivers side door and maneuvered it carefully until he heard a click, unlocking the door. He then used the knife to quickly strip the ignition wires and spark them together, starting the car. He slid out from under the dashboard to find Dean watching him with a look of fond admiration. 

“And the student becomes the master.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, now let's get the hell out of Dodge.”

They had to ditch the stolen car in Slidell and boost a new one, then again in Hattiesburg, Mississippi and Dean bitched the whole time about leaving his baby behind. But that was okay. It was all worth it to have Dean back where he belonged.

Now Sam just had to figure out how to save him one more time.

The End

 

Anger is the enemy of non-violence and pride is a monster that swallows it up.   
Mahatma Gandhi


End file.
